UC-NRLF 


B    3    327    M^b 


H 


cA 


■ 


SOME    PASSAGES 


IX  THE  LIFE  OF 


SIR    FRIZZLE   PUMPKIN 


THE  PIC-NIC. 


AND    OTHER    TALES 


PHILADELPHIA: 

R.  L.  CAREY  &.  A.  HART,  CHESNUT  STREET 

BALTIMORE: 

CAREY,    HART    &    CO 

1834 


WM 


^    C 
^ 


CONTEXTS. 


Sir  Frizzle  Pumpkin,  K.  C.  B.,       -         -         -         -  13 
Adventures  of  Crispin  Crisp,          -                 -        -68 

My  First  Duel. 101 

The  World  as  it  is, 109 

A  Miss-directed  Letter, 123 

The  Pic-Nic, .-  136 

My  Aunt's  Bequest, 168 

The  Dissenting  Minister, 182 

The  Widow, 198 


15 


SIR  FRIZZLE  PUMPKIN,  K.  C.  B. 


My  brethren  of  the  sword  have  astonished  me  in 
nothing  so  much  as  in  their  complete  mastery  of  the 
pen,  and  all  the  graces  of  composition.  AVhere  they 
picked  up  their  style  I  cannot  in  the  least  make  out. 
The  mess-room  is  seldom  redolent  of  the  flowers  of 
rhetoric,  and  the  camp  is,  if  possible,  still  less  adapted 
to  literary  pursuits.  It  used  formerly  to  be  a  reflec- 
tion against  the  army,  that  very  few  members  of  that 
houourable  profession  were  much  addicted  to  the  habit 
evea  of  reading ;  but  what  would  Smollett,  and  other 
worthies,  who  have  painted  us  in  such  disparaging 
colours,  say  to  us  at  the  present  day,  when  there  are 
few  messes  which  cannot  boast  of  a  considerable  num- 
ber of  authors — historians,  novelists,  and  memoir- 
writers,  not  to  mention  a  confused  and  undistinguisha- 
ble  multitude  of  politicians  and  poets?  Every  ofhcer 
now  not  only  can  read  books,  (which  is  perhaps 
the  greater  achievement  of  the  two,)  but  is  expected 
to  write  them  also.  At  all  events,  if  this  literary  ma- 
nia does  not  seize  us  while  on  active  service,  any  in- 
terval of  repose  is  certain  to  induce  it  with  the  utmost 
virulence.  Immediately  on  retiring  into  civil  life  a 
wonderful  change  takes  place  even  on  the  most  anti- 
bookish  of  one's  messmates.  The  epaulettes  expand 
into  reams  of  foolscap,  the  sword  converts  itself  into 
a  pen,  and  the  jolly  soldier  of  half  a  year  before,  is 
transmogrified  into  an  author.  The  world,  in  conse- 
2 


14 

quence,  is  inundated  with  military  sketches  ; — ladies' 
maids  and  sentimental  milliners  have  wept  over  the 
soft  recollections  of  romantic  majors  ; — mercers'  ap- 
prentices have  handled  the  yard  with  the  swagger  of 
a  field-marshal,  from  the  inspiring  stories  of  bloody- 
minded  ensigns ;  and,  in  short,  the  slang  of  the  camp 
has  become  as  familiar  as  the  words  of  ordinary  con- 
versation. The  navy  also  has  started  in  the  same  glo- 
rious pursuit.  The  gun-room  is  the  scene  of  many  a 
heroic  description.  Captains  and  lieutenants  club  to 
celebrate  the  honour,  virtue,  cleanliness,  and  piety  of 
the  British  tars.  Yard-arms,  tafTrils,  tarpaulins,  gaffs, 
and  booms,  hustle  each  other  through  every  page ; 
and  boys  and  virgins  are  elevated  and  astonished  at 
the  elegant  phraseology  of  the  cockpit.  My  wonder 
all  this  time  has  been,  in  the  first  place,  how  they  can 
find  stories  to  tell ;  and,  in  the  next  place,  how  they 
can  find  words  to  tell  them.  For  myself,  I  am  as  good 
as  the  best  of  them  at  an  anecdote  after  dinner ;  my 
words  come  as  pat  to  the  purpose  as  possible  ;  but  the 
moment  I  take  my  pen  into  my  hand — presto — all  my 
power  of  story-telling  is  gone.  Some  word  appears 
twice  or  thrice  in  the  same  sentence,  my  characters 
become  confused,  and  the  personages,  whose  wit  is 
sure  to  create  a  laugh  as  I  tell  the  story  to  my  friends 
at  table,  are  the  stupidest  fellows  I  ever  met,  when  I 
write  down  their  facetious  responses  in  black  and 
white.  My  opportunities  of  observation  have  been 
as  good  as  those  of  any  officer  of  my  standing,  and, 
as  I  said  before,  how  the  devil  it  is  that  they  man- 
age to  tell  long  stories  of  two  or  three  volumes, 
while  I  can't  muster  a  single  page,  I  can  by  no  means 
divine.  But  though  I  have  hitherto  failed  in  my  at- 
tempts, I  have  not  been  altogether  discouraged.  Per- 
severance, they  say,  will  conquer  in  the  end ;  and 
some  of  these  days,  I  doubt  not,  I  shall  be  able  to 
manufacture  a  warlike  tale  as  well  as  my  neighbours. 
Besides  the  honour  and  reputation,  there  are  other 
considerations  which,  it  may  easily  be  imagined, 
would  make  a  successful  novel  by  no  means  an  un- 


15 

pleasant  achievement  to  a  captain  on  half-pay.  Plutus, 
I  am  sorrv  to  confess,  mingles  in  all  ray  dreams  of 
fame.  I  envy  Col.  C.  Thornton  less  for  his  inimita- 
ble stvle,  and  power  of  description,  as  the  means  of 
raising  his  reputation,  than  as  the  means  of  raising 
the  wind.  With  such  a  pen  as  his,  I  should  soon  be 
in  danger  of  becoming  prouder  of  my  purse  than  of 
mv  glorv — my  pocket  should  re-echo  "  sweet  music 
of  a  silver  sound.1'  where  now  the  jingling  of  keys 
"  make  the  void  mirthful  without  change."  But  why 
should  I  indulge  in  such  golden  dreams  ?  My  con- 
founded fingers  grow  stiff  before  I  have  finished  a 
sentence,  and  sometimes  I  give  way  to  despair,  and 
fear  I  must  rest  contented  as  a  story-teller,  which  is 
verv  different  indeed  from  a  slory-ic riter. 

While  engaged  with  these  thoughts,  for  I  assure 
you  I  have  long  been  tormented  with  this  literary  and 
money-making  ambition,  I  luckily  received  an  invita- 
tion to  pass  a  few  days  in  the  country  with  a  distin- 
guished military  friend.  When  I  name  General  Sir 
Frizzle  Pumpkin,  K.  C.  B.  T.  K.  <fcc.  your  curiosity 
will  of  course  be  excited  to  know  something  of  the 
private  habits  of  a  hero  whose  public  actions  have 
awakened  throughout  his  long  and  brilliant  career  so 
much  admiration.  In  this  I  shall  only  gratify  you  in 
a  liorht  decree.  It  is  needless  to  inform  you  of  his 
hospitalitv,  his  generosity,  and  his  winning,  and,  in- 
deed, his  fascinating  manners.  These  are  already 
sufficiently  known.  "But  while  on  this  visit,  I  was 
struck  with  something  in  his  demeanour  different  from 
what  I  had  ever  remarked  before.  The  General 
seemed  sometimes  ill  at  ease.  His  habitual  good-na- 
ture seemed  on  some  occasions  to  be  inclined  to  leave 
him,  and  I  could  easily  perceive  that  he  was  teazed 
and  harassed  more  than  he  cared  to  show,  by  the 
compliments  which  a  young  nobleman  of  the  party 
heaped  on  him,  I  confess  with  no  sparing  or  delicate 
hand.  This  I  ascribed  to  the  natural  modesty  of  a 
brave  man — and  I  loved  my  distinguished  host  the 
more  that  I  saw  he  shrank  from  the  applauses  his  ac- 


16 

tions  had  deserved.  Our  time  past  very  pleasantly  in 
spite  of  these  interruptions,  and  I  began  to  feel  my 
regret,  at  leaving  so  excellent  a  friend,  increased  as  the 
day  of  my  departure  approached.  The  rest  of  the 
guests  had  left  us,  and  the  day  before  that  on  which  I 
had  fixed  to  return  to  my  lodging,  the  baronet  and 
myself  were  entirely  alone.  All  the  morning  I  had 
noticed  something  mysterious  in  his  manner.  He 
seemed  on  the  eve,  every  now  and  then,  of  making 
me  some  communication,  but  suddenly  checked  him- 
self, and  turned  the  conversation  to  some  other  sub- 
ject. We  dined,  and  after  dinner,  when  the  bottle 
had  made  two  or  three  rounds,  the  General  told  me  he 
had  something  to  relate — he  began  by  inveighing  more 
bitterly  than  I  thought  the  occasion  justified  against 
the  courtly  and  complimentar}7  lord  I  have  mentioned. 
He  then,  to  my  astonishment,  said  something  of  his 
conscience  not  allowing  him  to  accept  such  praises, 
and  on  my  expressing  my  wonder  at  his  squeamish- 
ness,  he  told  me  he  had  iong  wished  for  some  one  to 
whom  to  make  his  confession,  and  on  my  faithfully 
promising  to  assist  him  with  my  counsel  and  advice, 
he  filled  up  his  glass  and  began  as  follows  :— 

You  are  aware  that  I  am  in  possession  of  what  the 
world  generally  considers  the  highest  favours  of  fortune. 
I  have  risen  to  distinguished  rank  in  my  profession, 
my  wealth  is  more  than  commensurate  with  my  de- 
sires, my  friends,  I  may  say  without  presumption, 
are  zealously  attached  to  me,  and  all  these  blessings 
are  enhanced  by  the  enjoyment  of  uninterrupted  good 
health.  In  the  enumeration  of  my  advantages,  it  may 
be  necessary  also  to  remind  you,  that  my  actions  have 
not  been  altogether  unknown.  Reputation,  and  an 
honorary  addition  to  my  name,  are  the  rewards  of  my 
achievements.  Crowning  "  a  youth  of  labour  with 
an  age  of  ease,"  with  every  comfort  which  can  ra- 
tionally be  desired,  it  might  be  thought  there  was 
nothing  wanting  to  my  entire  felicity.  But  alas ! 
there  is  always  something  to  mar  our  enjoyments — 
"  some  fatal  remembrance — some  sorrow  that  throws 


17 

its  bleak  shade  alike  over  our  joys  and  our  woes," — 
and  by  one  overwhelming  evil  all  my  blessings  are 
rendered  of  no  avail.  When  I  look  around  me,  and 
see  my  fields  rich  with  harvests,  my  lawns  green  with 
verdure,  and  remember  that  they  were  acquired  from 
a  generous  and  grateful  country,  a  pang  shoots  through 
my  heart,  and  I  feel,  with  the  writhings  of  humili- 
ation and  remorse,  that  I  have  not  deserved  its  favours  ; 
that  I  have  raised  myself  by  a  life  of  hypocrisy,  and 
in  short,  that  these  honours  and  riches  which  were 
heaped  upon  me  as  the  rewards  of  my  bravery  and 
resolution,  have  been  bestowed — upon  a  coward — 
Yes,  on  one  of  the  most  nerveless  and  pusillanimous 
of  human  beings.  The  praises  of  the  public,  the 
compliments  of^my  friends,  the  whole  paraphernalia 
of  my  stars  and  ribbons,  fill  me  with  a  loathing  of 
myself.  If  I  had  really  merited  such  encomiums,  I 
might  have  felt  gratified  by  their  being  so  universally 
accorded;  but  as  it  is  ! — You  shall  hear  : 

My  youth  was  the  most  miserable  period  of  my  ex- 
istence. My  unresisting  and  easily  intimidated  cha- 
racter, made  me  the  slave  of  any  one  who  chose  to 
domineer  over  me.  The  school  at  which  I  was  edu- 
cated was  to  me  a  collection  of  tyrants,  rather  than 
playmates,  and  though  I  was  good-tempered  and  at- 
tentive, and  consequently  a  favourite  with  the  master, 
I  was  buffeted  and  despised  by  the  very  youngest  of 
the  boys.  The  name  of  Miss  Molly,  by  which  I  was 
known  throughout  the  school,  sufficiently  shows  the 
estimation  in  which  I  was  held  ;  and  if  any  trick  was 
to  be  played,  any  ghost  to  be  raised,  any  toes  to  be 
tied  at  night,  or  any  one  tossed  in  a  blanket  for  the 
amusement  of  the  bed-room,  Frizzle  Pumpkin  was 
sure  to  be  the  victim.  Amidst  scenes  such  as  these, 
with  any  spirit  which  at  first  I  might  have  possessed, 
entirely  broken,  I  arrived  at  the  age  of  sixteen.  Thin 
as  a  whipping-post,  and  remarkably  tall  for  my  years, 
I  left  the  scene  of  my  miseries,  and  resided  for  some 
months  at  home.  Many  consultations  were  held  as 
to  my  future  destination.  My  father,  a  good  easy 
2* 


18 

man,  spoke  in  favour  of  the  church,  but  my  mother, 
who  was  a  woman  of  spirit,  and  whose  father  had 
been  an  officer  of  considerable  reputation,  would  hear 
of  no  other  profession  for  me  but  the  army.  Their 
difference  of  opinion  produced  the  result  which  might 
naturally  have  been  expected,  namely,  complete  sub- 
mission on  the  part  of  my  father  ;  and  at  last  it  was 
decided  that  their  only  hope  should  gain  everlasting 
laurels  as  a  soldier.  This  resolution  took  me  entirely 
by  surprise.  My  dreams  at  night  were  of  nothing  but 
wounds  and  blood.  I  thought  of  the  certainty  of  be- 
ing cut  to  pieces  by  some  tremendous  Frenchman  ; 
resistance  never  entered  into  my  calculations,  and  as 
for  glory  I  never  could  imagine  what  was  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word.  In  this  state  of  dismal  foreboding 
my  time  was  passed,  and  although  I  dreaded  the  pro- 
fession to  which  I  was  doomed,  still  I  was  too  much 
afraid  of  my  mother's  domineering  temper,  to  protest 
against  the  choice  she  had  made  for  me.  A  commis- 
sion was  speedily  procured,  and  my  fears  as  the  day 
of  my  departure  approached,  amounted  to  agony. 
My  uniform  itself  failed  to  animate  my  courage,  and 
my  sword  would  have  remained  undrawn  for  ever,  so 
great  was  my  repugnance  to  cold  iron.  My  mother, 
however,  extricated  it  from  its  sheath  with  an  impetu- 
osity that  made  me  tremble,  and  praised  its  make  and 
temper  with  all  the  warmth  of  approval.  My  military 
troubles  oppressed  me  beyond  expression,  even  before 
I  left  my  home.  The  trepidation  of  my  mind  on  first 
discharging  a  pistol,  it  is  impossible  to  describe;  if 
any  one  has  suffered  shipwreck,  or  been  spectator  of 
an  earthquake,  or  been  bitten  by  a  dog  notoriously 
mad,  he  may  form  some  slight  idea  of  my  feelings 
when  I  touched  the  trigger.  Earth  swam  around  me 
as  I  listened  for  the  report,  and  a  thousand  lights 
danced  before  my  closely-shut  eyes  as  my  senses 
seemed  to  expire  in  a  kind  of  mental  delirium. 

All  this  time  I  must,  however,  inform  you,  my  fear 
rested  almost  entirely  in  my  mind.  My  outward  man 
showed  few  symptoms  of  the  internal  struggle  ;  and  I 


19 

am  not  aware  of  having  betrayed  the  intensity  of  my 
terrors  on  any  occasion,  unless  by  an  additional  pale- 
ness, and  a  total  incapacity  to  speak.  The  day  fixed 
for  my  joining  the  depot  at  last  came  on;  and  my 
courage  was,  if  possible,  diminished  by  every  hour 
that  passed.  My  father,  who  evidently  participated 
in  my  alarms,  but  did  not  dare  to  show  them,  talked, 
with  a  faltering  voice  and  a  tear  in  his  eye,  about 
Westminster  Abbey  and  a  peerage,  and  made  convul- 
sive efforts  to  be  facetious,  while  it  was  evident  his 
fears  for  my  safety  were  only  repressed  by  his  fears 
of  his  spouse's  displeasure.  However,  at  length  the 
moment  arrived,  and,  after  ascertaining  of  the  driver 
the  steadiness  and  good-temper  of  his  horses,  I  step- 
ped into  a  post-chaise,  and  soon  found  myself  in  the 

small  country-town  of ,  where  the  depot  of  my 

regiment  was  stationed.  The  introduction  to  my 
brother  officers  it  is  useless  to  describe.  Most  of  them 
were  young  and  inexperienced  like  myself;  but,  un- 
like me,  they  were  all  filled,  to  overflowing,  with  en- 
thusiasm for  the  service,  and  anticipations  of  future 
alory.  Our  time  was  spent  in  the  usual  way  that 
time  is  spent  by  military  officers  in  a  country  town. 
The  post-office  was  regularly  visited  after  parade  ;  an 
old  billiard-table,  with  a  considerable  part  of  the  cloth 
remaining,  was  a  resource  for  two  or  three  hours  ;  and 
lounging  from  one  end  of  the  main  street  to  the  other, 
showing  ourselves  and  feathers  to  the  best  advantage, 
constituted  all  the  rest  of  our  employment.  My  fears 
now  began  gradually  to  abate.  There  was  no  imme- 
diate prospect  of  our  being  ordered  on  foreign  service, 
and  the  routine  of  my  existence  became  more  agreea- 
ble, in  the  exact  proportion  that  I  found  it  less  danger- 
ous than  I  had  expected. 

As  the  town  of is  situated  on  a  river,  many 

parties  were  of  course  formed  for  boating,  and,  when 
the  weather  grew  warm,  for  bathing  also.  I  have  al- 
ways had  a  horror  of  the  water;  but  as  I  was  aware 
that  accidents  might  occur,  however  carefully  guarded 
against,  I  lost  no  time   in  providing   myself  with  a 


20 

sustaining  belt.  In  spite,  however,  of  this  precau- 
tion— and  I  was  assured  it  was  amply  sufficient  to 
support  even  two  men  in  the  water — I  most  sedulously- 
avoided  joining  my  messmates  in  any  of  their  excur- 
sions. I  was  considered  quiet  and  shy,  but  in  gene- 
ral, I  believe,  I  was  rather  liked  than  otherwise — so 
my  excuses  were  taken,  and  I  was  left  to  follow  my 
inclinations  in  peace.  One  day,  when  I  was  walking 
quietly  by  the  side  of  the  river,  in  considerable  dread 
that  some  cows  which  were  feeding  in  the  meadow 
might  be  attracted  by  my  coat,  I  came  on  a  branch  of 
the  stream,  forming  a  large  water  tank  through  the 
field;  and  over  this,  which  was  of  considerable  width, 
a  plank,  laid  across,  acted  as  a  bridge.  As  I  wras  care- 
fully stepping  along  this  rickety  pathway,  I  was  ar- 
rested by  the  shouts  of  my  regimental  friends,  who 
were  amusing  themselves,  as  the  day  was  oppressively 
warm,  by  bathing  in  this  secluded  part  of  the  river. 
I  stopped  on  the  plank,  and  watched  their  motions  for 
some  time,  and  1  could  not  help  envying  them  their 
courage  in  trusting  themselves  so  carelessly  as  they 
did  into  the  very  deepest  part  of  the  stream.  Not  for 
all  the  wealth  of  India  could  I  have  prevailed  on  my- 
self (guarded  as  I  was  with  the  sustaining  belt,  which 
I  constantly  wore)  to  have  done  the  same.  There 
was  horror  in  the  very  thought ;  and  I  was  going  to 
continue  my  walk  across  the  ditch,  and  retire  from  so 
dangerous  a  vicinity,  when  I  was  thrilled  by  a  cry  of 
agony  from  the  water  beneath  where  I  stood.  I 
looked  down,  and  in  the  very  mouth  of  the  ditch  of 
which  I  have  spoken,  I  saw  Jack  Wharton,  the  live- 
liest and  kindest-hearted  of  our  set,  evidently  in  the 
greatest  danger.  He  had  crept  quietly  under  the 
sedges  at  the  side,  in  order  to  come  upon  me  by  sur- 
prise; but  unluckily,  on  arriving  almost  under  the 
bridge,  he  was  seized  with  the  cramp  in  both  legs. 
He  looked  up  to  me  in  the  greatest  despair. — "  Save 
me,  save  me!"  he  cried  in  an  agony — "Oh?  save 
me  !"  and  sunk  below  the  water,  apparently  quite  ex- 
hausted.    A  thousand  thoughts  rushed  into  my  brain — 


21 

I  saw  his  head  and  pale  brow,  after  coming  up  for  a 
moment,  go  down  a  second  time, — a  dimness  fell  upon 
my  eyes,  a  faintness  came  over  my  spirit,  and,  in  the 
intensity  of  my  apprehension,  I  lost  my  balance,  and 
fell  into  the  hole  where  my  poor  friend  was  struggling. 
A  little  recalled  to  my  recollection  by  the  plunge,  I 
grasped  convulsively  at  the  nearest  object,  and,  sup- 
ported by  my  belt,  I  made  directly  for  the  land.  In- 
stinctively I  clambered  up  the  bank,  still  clenching  the 
object  I  had  seized  in  the  water.  I  just  saw  it  was 
the  arm  of  poor  Wharton,  and  that  I  had  saved  him 
— when  a^ain  my  terrors  overcame  me,  and  I  fainted. 
When  I  recovered  my  senses,  I  was  saluted  with 
shouts  of  "  bravo,  bravo  !"  Slowly  I  opened  my  eyes, 
and  found  myself  surrounded  by  my  friends;  Whar- 
ton was  still  chafing  my  temples,  and  calling  me  his 
deliverer,  and  pouring  forth  the  most  profuse  expres- 
sions of  his  gratitude.  Though  still  shuddering  at 
my  narrow  escape,  I  expressed  in  a  few  words  my 
happiness  at  having  been  the  instrument  of  his  pre- 
servation, but  I  told  him  at  the  same  time,  with  truth, 
that  my  exertions  had  scarcely  been  voluntary,  and 
that  as  I  was  quite  unable  to  swim,  it  was  only  over- 
powering necessity  which  obliged  me  to  plunge  into 
the  river.  The  fame  of  this  exploit  soon  spread 
through  the  somewhat  contracted  circle  of  the  town  of 

:  my  total  ignorance  of  swimming  enhanced  the 

merit  of  my  heroic  contempt  of  danger,  and  for  a 
week  or  two  I  was  quite  the  lion  of  the  parties  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Bui  my  gallantry,  as  it  was  termed, 
had  a  more  enduring  memorial  than  the  applauses  of 

the  beaux  and  belles  of .     The   officers   at  that 

time  in  the  depot,  presented  me  with  a  handsome  snuff- 
box, on  which  is  an  inscription,  testifying  their  high 
opinion  of  my  merit  in  plunging  in,  at  the  imminent 
risk  of  my  life,  to  the  assistance  of  a  brother  of- 
ficer.— This  box  I  of  course  still  preserve,  and  al- 
though it  is  nearly  thirty  years  since  the  adventure 
took  place,  I  can  scarcely  now  look  on  that  compli- 
mentary testimony  to  my  courage  without  a  blush. 


22 

Young  Wharton  after  that  became  the  warmest  of 
my  friends ;  but  in  my  intercourse  with  him,  there 
was  always  on  my  side  a  feeling  of  embarrassment. 
My  conscience  would  not  allow  me  to  accept  the  grati- 
tude which  he  offered,  and  my  pride  would  not  allow 
me  to  confess  to  him  the  real  circumstances  of  the 
case.  This  struggle  within  myself  produced  a  cold- 
ness in  my  behaviour,  and  I  saw  that  the  boy  was 
mortified  and  disappointed,  that  his  warm  advances 
were  so  indifferently  received.  At  length,  though  it 
was  evident  he  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  show  his 
affection  for  his  preserver,  as  he  still  thought  and 
called  me,  he  desisted  from  cultivating  any  greater  in- 
timacy than  had  previously  subsisted  between  us.  I 
was  now  considered  among  my  friends  a  person  whose 
courage  was  only  equalled  by  his  modesty ;  and  an 
idea  began  to  be  spread  that  I  was  so  reckless  of  life,  in 
the  pursuit  of  fame,  that  under  the  melancholy  and 
quietness  of  a  Jacques,  I  concealed  the  spirit  and  am- 
bition of  a  Hotspur. 

I  shall  not  trouble  you  with  the  further  details  of 

our  residence  at ,  nor  need  I  describe  to  you  the 

terror  which  fell  upon  me  with  threefold  force  from 
the  hopes  I  had  fondly  indulged  of  security,  when  a 
despatch  came  down  for  us  to  join  our  regiment,  which 
was  just  ordered  abroad.  Our  march  was  conducted 
without  any  remarkable  occurrence ;  and  in  the  high- 
est possible  order,  with  the  steadiness  and  regularity 
of  veteran  campaigners,  our  new  levies  made  a  most 
imposing  appearance  when  united  for  the  first  time  to 
the  main  body  of  the  regiment,  upon  parade.  Forces 
had  been  collected  from  all  quarters,  and  concentrated 
at  Portsmouth.  Our  destination  was  not  as  yet  known, 
and  my  fears  were  accordingly  divided  between  the 
sabres  of  the  French  and  the  murderous  rifles  of  the 
Yankees.  We  were  detained  for  upwards  of  a  fort- 
night by  contrary  winds,  and  I  confess  to  you  that 
my  prayers  were  most  fervent  and  sincere  that  the 
weathercock  might  never  change  its  direction.  At 
last,  however,  a  calm  succeeded  to  the  tempest  which 


23 

had  restrained  us  so  long  ;  the  transports  were  an- 
chored as  near  to  the  shore  as  possible,  and  on   the 

17th  day  of ,  in  the  year ,  for  I  love  to  be 

particular  in  my  dates,  I  bade  adieu  to  the  shores  of 
England.  The  voyage  left  me  ample  time  for  serious 
reflection.  I  was  conscious  of  my  own  utter  coward- 
ice; I  was  aware  that  on  the  very  first  occasion  of 
danger  I  should  disgrace  myself;  and  I  need  scarcely 
inform  you  that  my  spirits,  naturally  placid,  were  by 
no  means  elevated  by  the  contemplation  of  my  future 
prospects.  The  mirth  of  my  companions  grated 
harshly  on  my  ears.  I  could  scarcely  believe  that 
their  anxiety  to  meet  the  enemy  was  not  feigned, — 
and  yet,  disagreeable  as  the  passage  was,  I  could  never 
persuade  myself  to  wish  for  its  conclusion.  Our  des- 
tination we  now  found  was .     The  enemy  were 

known  to  have  made  every  preparation  for  our  ap- 
proach, and  even  the  bravest  of  my  messmates,  though 
they  were  doubtful  for  a  moment  of  ultimate  success, 
expressed  their  anticipations  of  tremendous  loss  in 
forcing  our  way  to  land.  The  night  before  we  ex- 
pected to  come  to  an  anchor,  my  forebodings  of  evil 
would  not  allow  me  to  rest  in  my  cot;  I  therefore 
went  on  deck,  and  leant  despondingly  against  the  mast. 
The  moon  was  high  in  heaven,  groups  of  soldiers 
were  lying  on  the  boards,  apparently  asleep,  and  the 
only  moving  objects  on  the  scene  were  the  few  sailors 
attending  to  the  necessary  operations  of  the  vessel. 
"With  a  sort  of  desperate  resolution  I  had  determined 
to  rush  upon  death  and  put  an  end  to  my  tormenting 
fears  at  once, — I  had  summoned  to  my  aid  all  that  I 
had  ever  heard  or  read  of  heroic  achievement,  and 
having  thus  made  up  my  mind  for  the  worst  that  could 
befall  me,  I  sunk  into  a  state  of  calm  and  almost  self- 
devoting  despair.  I  was  interrupted  in  my  reverie  by 
a  voice  at  my  side — "Pumpkin!"  it  said,  "  wThat  a 
glorious  moon  !"  I  turned  round,  and  saw  young 
Wharton  gazing  intently  upon  the  bright  planet;  and 
in  my  life  I  think  I  never  saw  so  beautiful  an  expres- 
sion in  any  one's  face  as  at  that  moment  in  his.     Lan- 


24 

guidly  I  looked  upwards  to  the  same  object,  and  said 
in  a  low  and  subsided  whisper,  "Yes,  very." — 
"  Why,  you  seem  in  low  spirits,  considering  the  no- 
ble prospect  we  have  before  us." 

Never,  you  will  believe  me,  could  it  enter  into  my 
calculations,  that  any  one  would  describe  the  hateful 
certainty  of  going  into  battle  as  a  noble  prospect.  I 
accordingly  thought  he  was  expressing  his  admiration 
of  the  scenery. 

"  Such  contemplations,"  I  said,  "  are  by  no  means 
calculated  to  raise  the  spirits.  There  is  something  so 
awful  and  sublime  in  the  motions  of  the  mighty  host 
now  marshalled  in  such  beautiful  array  within  our 
view,  that  the  mind  sinks  under  it,  and  admiration  is 
strongly  mingled  with  awe." 

"  That  may  be  the  case,"  he  replied,  "  to  a  phi- 
losopher, but  I  never  knew  anything  of  philosophy, 
and  never  shall.  All  that  I  know  or  care  for  is  this — 
that  all  our  operations  are  regulated  by  the  command- 
er-in-chief; obedience  is  all  we  can  give,  and  if  you 
and  I  are  lucky,  we  shall  perhaps  be  captains  within 
the  week." 

This  soon  recalled  me  to  the  horrors  of  my  situa- 
tion ;  I  painted  to  myself  the  contempt  with  which 
every  one,  even  the  warm-hearted  boy  who  looked  to 
me  now  with  admiration  and  esteem,  would  regard 
me  after  to-morrow's  fight.  My  dogged  resolution, 
prompted  by  my  despair,  almost  gave  way,  and  I  was 
undecided  whether  or  not  it  would  be  better  to  ease 
my  conscience  by  confessing  the  truth  to  my  friend, 
and  rushing  at  once  upon  the  disclosure  which  every 
hour  became  more  hideous  to  me  by  delay.  That  it 
was  inevitable,  I  did  not  doubt.  I  had  no  high  feeling 
to  support  me,  and  I  would  gladly  have  exchanged 
honour,  hopes,  and  reputation,  for  safety  and  oblivion. 
If  I  could  instantly  have  got  to  a  distance  after  the 
confession,  I  should  not  have  put  it  off  one  moment, 
— but  to  be  pointed  at,  jeered,  laughed  at,  ridiculed, 
spurned,  despised, — it  was  too  much, — and  I  resolved 


25 

to  wait  patiently  the  course  of  events,  and  not  precipi- 
tate my  disgrace  by  a  premature  discovery. 

"  We  shall  have  bloody  work  of  it  at  all  events,  and 
a  glorious  victory,  whoever  lives  to  see  it.  We  shall 
first  have  to  stand  the  fire  of  all  the  batteries  in  going 
ashore ;  and  after  we  land,  we  shall  be  attacked 
by  the  whole  army  of  the  enemy  drawn  up  on  the 
coast, — bullets  will  be  as  plentiful  as  peas  in  August, 
and  our  regiment  will  have  its  full  share,  as  we  shall 
most  likely  be  pushed  first  to  land." 

"  Indeed  ?"  I  said,  as  you  may  imagine  with  no  di- 
minution of  my  dislike  to  honourable  service — "  that 
arrangement  strikes  me  to  be  very  unfair.  The  rest 
of  the  troops" — 

"  Spoken  like  yourself:  you  are  always  so  kind  and 
considerate — why  it  may  be  their  turn  next  time,  and 
they  should  not  grumble  if  we  step  for  once  before 
them,  into  the  field  of  glory." 

"  Oh  no,  I  have  no  doubt  they  don't  envy  our  situ- 
ation in  the  least.  For  my  own  part,  if  I  were  in 
their  place" — 

41  You  would  be  in  a  devil  of  a  passion  at  being 
kept  behind — But  however  I  expect  great  things  from 
you  to-morrow.  I  shall  be  very  happy  if  I  can  only 
follow  your  example.  The  eyes  of  the  whole  regi- 
ment are  upon  you,  and  all  of  us  expect  something 
quite  out  of  the  way." 

"  They  will  most  probably  not  be  disappointed," 
I  said  with  a  bitter  consciousness — "  I  have  no  doubt 
they  will  see  many  things  to  amaze  them." 

"  How  ?  have  you  fixed  on  any  plan  ?  That  you 
will  distinguish  yourself,  I  have  no  doubt ;  but  if  in 
doing  so  you  require  the  assistance  of  another,  my 
sword,  my  life,  which  I  owe  to  your  intrepidity,  is  at 
your  service." 

My  feelings  became  bitterer  and  more  irritable  every 
instant  that  our  conference  lasted.  I  hated  the  brave 
young  fellow  who  thus  offered  everything  in  his 
power  to  aid  my  reputation  ;  for  you  may  be  sure 
your  true  coward  hates  no  man  for  anything  so  much 
3 


26 

as  for  his  courage.  While  I  was  musing  on  the  dif- 
ference between  our  dispositions,  he  again  asked  me 
most  earnestly  by  what  means  I  hoped  to  render  my- 
self distinguished  ? 

Worked  into  a  state  of  frenzy  by  this  harping  on 
what  was  to  me  the  most  disagreeable  subject  in  the 
world ;  hating  the  army,  him,  myself,  and  all  the  uni- 
verse, I  grasped  him  by  the  arm,  and  said  slowly  and 
distinctly — "  By  exposing  myself!  Mark  my  words, 
and  remember  what  I  have  told  you." 

Having  made  this  confession,  I  let  his  arm  go  ;  and 
as  I  slowly  turned  away  to  hide  my  agony  and  humili- 
ation, instead  of  his  eyes  being  turned  on  me  with  the 
contempt  I  deserved,  they  were  fixed  with  a  look  of 
generous  enthusiasm. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  he  whispered,  "  do  not  expose 
yourself  too  much — but  wherever  you  are  I  shall  be 
at  your  side.     God  bless  you,  good  night." 

Day  came  at  length,  and  land  was  descried  at  the 
distance  of  less  than  twenty  miles.  Expectation  was 
raised  to  the  utmost  height.  Officers  were  busied  in 
all  parts  of  the  vessel  gazing  intently  through  their 
telescopes.  For  myself,  I  felt  no  curiosity.  I  knew 
that  all  places  were  alike  to  me,  and  I  remained 
amidst  that  busy  and  inspiring  scene,  in  apathy  and 
silence.  Every  minute  revealed  to  us  more  distinctly 
the  features  of  the  shore.  An  abrupt  hill,  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  sea,  thickly  studded  with  trees  and 
brushwood,  was  crowned  by  a  battery  apparently  of 
considerable  size.  To  the  right  of  this  a  thickly- 
wooded  district  stretched  out  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  while  on  the  left  a  level  country  was  spread  to 
an  immense  extent,  and  admirably  adapted  for  the 
manoeuvres  of  an  army.  The  object  of  our  chiefs,  we 
could  easily  divine,  would  be  to  seize  the  command- 
ing height,  and  we  could  not  doubt  that  so  important 
a  station  would  be  defended  to  the  last.  Exclamations 
of  joy  and  delight  burst  from  the  gazers  as  the  scene 
gradually  unfolded  its  beauties.  The  height  was  evi- 
dently manned  by  a  very  strong  detachment,   while 


mm 


27 

large  masses  of  infantry  were  distinguishable  on  the 
plain.  To  an  unprejudiced  eye  the  coup-d'ceil  would 
have  been  wonderfully  striking,  while  no  inconsidera- 
ble part  of  the  beauty  of  the  prospect,  would  have  been 
derived  from  the  transports  and  ships  of  war  covering 
the  whole  sea  with  a  white  cloud  of  canvass.  Every 
heart  except  my  own  bounded  with  animation  ;  but, 
alas  !  with  me  the  sensation  wTas  only  one  of  increased 
misery  and  despondence. 

Two  frigates  were  sent  forward  to  demolish  the  bat- 
tery, and  cover  the  landing  of  the  troops.  How  nobly 
this  service  was  performed  it  is  needless  for  me  to 
mention, — the  noise  of  the  cannon  sunk  me  into  ten- 
fold confusion ;  the  smoke  rose  in  dense  wreaths,  and 
under  cover  of  the  bombardment,  the  boats  pushed  to 
land.  Of  my  own  behaviour,  I  can  give  no  account. 
Listening  only  to  the  thunder  of  the  artillery,  think- 
ing, I  suppose,  of  nothing,  but  in  a  state  of  complete 
torpor  and  bewilderment,  1  took  my  station  in  the 
boat.  We  soon  found  ourselves  drawn  up  on  the 
shore  ;  and  a  shout,  which  for  a  moment  drowned  the 
roaring  of  the  guns,  showed  the  enthusiasm  of  our 
men,  and  the  success  of  our  enterprise. 

Mechanically  I  marched  along  with  the  others — 
rushed  up  the  hillock  of  which  I  have  spoken,  and 
after  a  melee  mingled  with  many  horrid  sounds,  half- 
maddened  with  groans,  shrieks,  shoutings,  and  excla- 
mations of  every  tone  and  nature,  I  found  myself  alone. 
Awakened  a  little  from  my  amazement,  by  this  appal- 
ling discovery,  I  looked  around  me.  Our  troops  had 
pushed  most  gallantly  up  the  hill,  but  just  as  some  of 
the  foremost  had  crowned  it,  a  large  reinforcement  of 
the  enemy  met  them  at  the  top,  and  by  overwhelming 
numbers,  repulsed  us  with  incredible  slaughter.  How 
it  occurred  I  have  never  been  able  to  guess — but  alone, 
on  the  hostile  side  of  the  hillock,  cut  off  from  our 
own  forces,  the  bravest  might  have  been  excused  for 
giving  himself  up  for  lost.  I  saw  no  possibility  of  es- 
cape, unless  by  concealing  myself  in  the  thicket  to  the 
right,  and  I  accordingly  directed   my  course  to  the 


28 

nearest  clump.  Suddenly  the  earth  was  shaken  be- 
neath ray  feet,  and  on  looking  round  to  the  place  from 
which  the  noise  proceeded,  I  saw  a  charge  of  our  own 
cavalry  which  had  deployed  around  the  base  of  the 
height,  upon  a  regiment  of  the  enemy's  light  horse, 
stationed  under  its  cover.  The  fate  of  the  attack  was 
not  long  doubtful.  The  enemy  began  to  waver,  and 
in  a  short  time  a  completer  rout  took  place.  Horses 
in  great  numbers,  wild  and  unmanageable,  rushed  past 
me  on  every  side.  In  momentary  expectation  of  be- 
ing cleft  by  some  retreating  horseman,  or  trodden  to 
death  by  the  hoofs  of  his  charger,  I  shrieked  and  hal- 
loed, but  luckily  the  enemy  were  generally  more  fright- 
ened than  myself. 

In  the  despair  of  the  moment,  although  from  my 
childhood  in  the  utmost  terror  of  trusting  myself  on 
horseback,  I  determined,  as  the  only  chance  of  avoid- 
ing being  ridden  over,  to  seize  some  masterless  charger, 
and  trust  to  good  fortune  for  the  rest.  I  luckily  soon 
caught  one  as  it  galloped  past  me,  and  climbed  into 
the  saddle.  In  an  instant  the  horse  continued  its 
flight,  and  badly  as  at  all  times  I  rode,  and  half  de- 
lirious as  I  was  with  alarm,  I  rejoiced  to  see  that  its 
speed  would  soon  get  me  out  of  the  crowd.  Intently 
anxious  to  preserve  my  seat,  I  clung  with  desperate 
energy  to  the  mane,  and  unfortunately  my  sword, 
which  I  still  retained  in  my  hand,  was  jerked  by  the 
tossing  of  my  career  against  my  face,  and  inflicted  this 
ghastly  wound,  of  which  you  see  the  mark  upon  my 
brow.  My  horse  with  untired  speed  continued  its 
flight,  and  was  evidently  gaining  rapidly  upon  those 
who  had  gone  before.  In  particular,  I  saw  I  was  fol- 
lowing exactly  in  the  track  of  an  old  officer,  evidently 
of  distinction,  whose  horse  gave  tokens  of  fatigue. 
The  blood,  I  perceived,  was  trickling  from  several 
wounds  it  had  received,  and  I  began  to  be  dreadfully 
alarmed  that  its  rider,  when  I  should  overtake  him, 
would  blow  out  my  brains  with  the  pistols  at  his  hol- 
sters. In  this  state  I  managed  to  catch  hold  of  the 
reins,  but  alas  !   I  found  that  I  had  little  power  in  re- 


29 

ducing  my  horse's  speed.  Just,  however,  as  I  got 
up  with  the  officer  I  so  much  dreaded,  I  succeeded  in 
checking  my  terrified  animal,  and  assumed  something 
approaching  to  an  upright  seat.  The  officer  seeing 
me  at  his  side,  and  recognizing  the  English  uniform, 
pulled  up  his  horse  at  the  same  time.  "  The  fortune 
of  war  is  yours,"  he  said,  "  I  yield  myself  prisoner." 
Saying  this,  he  bowed,  and  presented  me  his  sword. 
Bewildered  with  the  whole  adventure,  and  scarcely  be- 
lieving the  reality  of  my  safety,  1  bowed  in  return, 
and  took  advantage  of  the  stop  to  which  my  horse  had 
come  to  turn  him  round,  in  hopes  of  rejoining  our  own 
forces.  My  prisoner,  who  was  wounded  and  fatigued, 
rode  dejectedly  at  my  side.  I  confess  I  was  under 
considerable  alarm  lest  he  should  retract  his  surrender, 
and  perhaps  torn  the  tables  upon  his  captor.  But 
luckily  he  entertained  no  such  idea.  Our  cavalry  had 
gone  on  in  pursuit  of  the  main  body  of  the  fugitives, 
and  we  still  saw  them,  though  at  a  great  distance,  fu- 
riously engaged.  Of  the  fate  of  the  battery  and  forces 
on  the  hillock,  I  was  of  course  ignorant,  and  was  in 
prodigious  alarm  lest  I  should  fall  into  the  enemy's 
hands  before  rejoining  our  army  on  the  beach.  My 
fears,  however,  were  vain.  On  rounding  the  emi- 
nence, still  accompanied  by  my  prisoner,  we  found 
ourselves  in  presence  of  the  victorious  British  force. 
My  face  being  covered  with  clotted  gore,  and  being 
altogether  excited  by  my  terrors  to  a  degree  of  fever, 
my  appearance  must  have  created  some  surprise  among 
our  troops.  By  good  fortune  I  rode  up  to  the  station 
of  my  own  regiment,  where  I  had  been  long  given  up 
for  lost.  The  joy  of  my  companions  was  warmly 
and  loudly  expressed,  and'  I  soon  was  observed  by  the 
General,  who  happened  at  that  moment  to  be  passing 
along  the  line.  His  acute  eye  saw  immediately  how  af- 
fairs were  placed.  He  called  me  to  him,  inquired  my 
name  and  rank,  and  complimented  me  highly  on  my 
behaviour.  My  prisoner,  in  order  I  suppose  to  ac- 
count for  his  own  surrender,  related  some  wonderful 
instances  of  my  valour ;  and  his  rank  being  no  less 
3* 


30 

than  lieutenant-general  of  the  enemy,  added  no  little 
reputation  to  ray  exploit.  The  issue  of  this  battle,  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  is  soon  told.  I  was  raised  to 
a  captaincy  on  the  spot,  and  sent  home  with  the  des- 
patches. In  the  general's  account  of  the  engagement, 
the  following  passage  occurred: — "Allow  me  also  to 
recommend  to  your  notice  Captain  Frizzle  Pumpkin, 
the  bearer  of  this  despatch.  Throughout  the  affair 
his  conduct  was  the  admiration  of  the  whole  army. 
Alone  and  surrounded  by  the  enemy,  he  dismounted 
a  trooper,  sprung  on  his  charger,  and  succeeded,  in 
the  face  of  his  own  forces,  in  capturing  and  securing 

Lieutenant  General  the  Baron  De .     I  consider 

myself  indebted  to  his  calm  yet  daring  courage,  for 
raising  the  spirits  of  the  troops  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
enthusiasm,  and  I  regret  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  be- 
stow on  him  a  reward  adequate  to  his  transcendent 
merits." 

You  will  not  be  surprised  if  I  inform  you,  that  after 
this  recommendation  from  the  general,  I  was  received 
by  the  authorities  at  home  with  the  highest  conside- 
ration. I  was  courted  and  caressed  as  if  I  had  been  a 
perfect  hero  of  romance.  Among  those  who  extended 
their  patronage  to  me  in  the  kindest  and  most  gratify- 
ing manner,  was  the  gallant  old  Marquis  of  Hardbottle. 
During  my  stay  in  England,  which  was  limited  to  three 
weeks,  I  was  almost  a  constant  guest  at  his  table.  His 
family  circle  consisted  at  that  time — as  his  sons  were 
both  abroad — of  two  lovely  daughters  ;  indeed,  I  may 
say,  that  at  the  period  I  speak  of,  now  eight-and-twenty 
years  ago,  they  were  the  most  beautiful  and  fascinating 
women  I  had  ever  seen.  Perhaps  you  may  imagine 
that  the  superiority  of  their  rank  had  something  to  do 
in  bringing  me  to  this  judgment  of  their  charms  ;  but 
circumstances  have  since  occurred,  which,  in  my  eyes 
at  least,  have  deprived  them  of  that  superiority,  and 
ray  opinion  remains  unchanged.  Of  the  two,  the  Lady 
Annabella  was  my  favourite.  There  was  so  much 
playful  ease,  at  the  same  time  so  much  delicate  pro- 
priety, in  whatever  she  said  or  did,  that  while  she  im- 


31 

mediately  attracted  the  affection,  she  as  surely  retained 
the  admiration  and  esteem. 

In  this  family  I  passed  the  happiest  hours  of  my 
life.  There  was  but  one  drawback  to  my  felicity.  The 
Marquis  was  an  officer  of  the  old  school,  and,  next  to 
being  unflinching  in  the  field,  he  ranked  among  the 
soldier's  virtues  the  being  unflinching  over  the  bottle. 
He  attached  such  importance  to  this  accomplishment, 
that  I  plainly  saw  he  estimated  a  man's  courage  and 
strength  of  nerve,  in  the  exact  ratio  of  his  strength  of 
stomach.     To  this  failing  of  his  lordship  I  made  my- 
self a  martyr.    In  spite  of  my  wound,  which  was  now 
indeed  nearly  well,  I  felt  myself  irresistibly  called  up- 
on to  drink.     Whether  or  not  my  behaviour  in  this 
respect  was  influenced  by  the  Marquis's  declaration, 
that  he  would  consider  it  a  personal  insult  for  any  gen- 
tleman to  leave  his  table  in  a  condition  which  enabled 
him  to  walk,   I  will  not  say, — but  his  lordship  was 
known  to  be  an  inimitable  shot,  and,  on  occasions  of 
that  sort,  seldom  to  be  worse  than  his  word.     My 
mornings  were  happy, — or,  if  unhappy,  only  disturbed 
by  my  fears  of  the  evening's  debauch. 

The  drawing-room,  and  the  fascinating  society  of 
the  ladies,  you  will  perhaps  imagine,  were  a  sufficient 
compensation  for  any  sufferings.  With  me,  indeed,  it 
was  so.  Every  time  I  was  admitted  into  their  presence, 
I  found  the  Lady  Annabella's  influence  gaining  the  as- 
cendency over  my  heart.  I  do  not  mean  that  the  conquest 
she  made  of  my  affection  was  the  result  of  her  arts,  or 
even  her  wishes. — Far  from  it.  I  saw,  that  even  if 
fortune  favoured  me  in  future,  as  much  as  she  had  hi- 
therto done,  aye,  if  I  raised  myself  to  an  equal  rank 
with  the  object  of  my  admiration,  my  suit  would  still 
be  hopeless, — forthough  I  perceived  that  her  heart  was 
untouched,  I  knew,  alas  !  that  her  hand  was  engaged. 
The  Honourable  Henry  Fitz  D'Angle,  heir  to  an  im- 
mense fortune  and  dukedom,  was  her  affianced  husband, 
and  I  have  often  thought,  since  the  period  that  1  men- 
tion, that  it  was  little  less  than  madness  to  yield  to  the 
delicious  enchantment  of  those  interviews  and  conver- 


32 

sations,  when  I  was  aware  that  I  was  only  nursing  a 
flame,  which,  in  all  probability  would  consume  me. 
However,  I  found  resistance  to  my  passion  impossible, 
and  heart  and  soul,  I  gave  myself  up  to  the  lovely  and 
accomplished  Lady  Annabella.  Our  mornings  were 
often  employed  in  shopping  :  on  these  occasions,  the 
Marchioness,  out  of  consideration  for  my  wound,  al- 
lowed me  a  seat  beside  her  in  the  carriage.  Fitz  D'An- 
gle,  who,  though  an  intolerable  puppy,  was  handsome 
in  person,  and  a  perfect  horseman,  usually  accompa- 
nied us  on  a  spirited  Arabian.  I  shall  not  say,  when, 
in  order  to  show  his  seat,  he  made  the  animal  rear  in 
the  most  terrific  manner,  how  certain  tremors  ran 
through  my  heart,  as  I  sat  in  momentary  expectation 
that  the  charger  in  its  descent,  would  put  his  iron  foot 
through  the  carriage  window,  and  demolish  my  unfor- 
tunate head.  I  remarked  that  during  these  displays, 
the  lovely  cheek  of  Lady  Annabella  never  underwent 
the  slightest  change  ;  and  I  confess,  that  without  allow- 
ing myself  to  inquire  into  the  cause,  I  rejoiced  in  per- 
ceiving her  indifference.  I  shall  not  trouble  you  with 
lengthened  details  of  the  progress  of  my  affection.  You 
will  imagine  for  yourself  the  effects  which  beauty  and 
artless  condescension  naturally  produced  ;  and  at  the 
end  of  a  fortnight,  I  was  madly,  miserably  in  love. 

In  the  mean  time,  my  favour  with  the  Marquis  con- 
tinued undiminished.  The  opinion  he  first  entertained 
of  me  luckily  made  him  blind  to  any  little  appearances 
of  so  unheroical  a  feeling  as  fright ;  and  the  respect 
with  which  I  treated  so  choleric  and  unrivalled  a  shot, 
was  attributed  to  the  deference  I  felt  myself  called  upon 
to  pay  his  experience  and  fame.  The  hospitable  or- 
gies after  dinner  continued  as  immoderately  as  ever, 
and  to  me  the  most  provoking  part  of  the  Marquis's 
peculiarity  was,  that  no  quantity  of  wine,  however  large, 
had  the  slightest  effect  upon  his  brain.  Hour  after 
hour,  bottle  after  bottle,  passed  away — aid-de-camp  af- 
ter aid-de-camp  dropt  peacefully  under  the  table,  and 
still  his  lordship  sat  with  his  head  as  clear,  and  his 
eye  as  steady  as  ever,  relating  to  us — those  of  us  who 


33 

couid  listen— the  military  and  bacchanalian  achieve- 
ments of  his  youth,  and  ever  and  anon  reminding  us 
of  our  neglect,  if  the  bottle  by  any  chance  hesitated  for 
a  moment  in  its  rapid  unvarying  round.  After  a  suc- 
cession of  these  parties  had  accustomed  us  to  each 
other,  he  addressed  me  one  evening  in  the  most  friendly 
and  confidential  manner.  "  Pumpkin,  I. have  a  pro- 
posal to  make  to  you."  I  bowed,  and  waited  in  ex- 
pectation. "  You  see,"  he  continued, — "  D — me, 
Jack  Hardy,  are  you  going  to  keep  the  claret  all  night? 

my  aids-de-camp  have  a  merry  life — a  very  merry 

life  ! — Help  yourself,  Pumpkin — but  somehow  or 
other,  I  can't  account  for  it  at  all — it  is  a  very  short 
one.  About  five  months,  I  think,  is  the  average — 
Burton,  how  long  has  Pilpay  been  on  the  staff?" 

"  Three  months,  my  lord,"  said  Burton,  "  and  two 
days." 

"Is  he  going  soon  ?" 

"  Not  very,  my  lord.  He'll  be  good  for  another 
fortnight  He'll  see  out  the  present  case  of  liqueurs  ; 
but  that's  all." 

"  I  feared  as  much :  his  hand  has  been  unsteady  in 
the  morning  since  our  week  with  the  Enniskillens." 

His  lordship  paused  for  a  little,  and  I  was  in  hopes 
the  conversation  was  at  an  end  ;  but  he  turned  to  me, 
and  said,  with  the  kindest  air  in  the  world,  "  There 
will  be  a  vacancy,  Captain  Pumpkin,  in  my  staff  in  the 
course  of  ten  days  or  a  fortnight.  I  fear  by  that  time 
Pilpay's  last  glass  will  be  drained,  and  I  need  not  tell 
you  how  I  shall  be  delighted  if  you  will  supply  his 
place." 

"  Is  Captain  Pilpay,  then,  my  lord,  about  to  ex- 
change ?" 

"  Aye,"  said  his  lordship,  "  this  world  for  a  better, 
I  hope — He  was  always  a  poor  drinker — Will  you 
pass  the  wine? — something  went  wrong  with  him,  and 
he  sunk  from  four  bottles  a-night  to  a  paltry  couple,  so 
we  can  scarcely  expect  him  to  recover. — You  will  con- 
sider my  proposal,  and  let  me  have  your  answer  to- 
morrow. In  the  mean  time,  fill  a  bumper  ;  for  Burton, 
I  see,  is  waiting  for  the  wine." — It  was  a  deathblow 


34 

to  my  happiness  !  I  looked  at  his  lordship,  who  was 
smiling  with  the  most  friendly  and  benignant  expres- 
sion, as  if  he  had  been  an  assassin.  What !  after  I  had 
escaped  the  horrors  of  an  engagement,  was  I  to  be 
murdered  by  a  lingering  death  of  three  months  and 
two  days,  under  the  pretence  of  hospitality  and  kind- 
ness ?  Better,  far  better,  if  I  had  died  at  the  first  view 
of  the  enemy  ;  and,  alas !  I  found  it  equally  dangerous 
to  decline  the  intended  honour.  There  was  no  saying 
in  what  light  his  lordship  might  view  my  refusal.  Tor- 
mented by  these  thoughts,  the  conversation  around  me 
passed  unnoticed.  I  only  saw  before  me  a  collection 
of  murderers,  and  considered  myself  the  victim  of  an 
atrocious  conspiracy.  I  drank  and  drank,  and  strange 
as  it  may  appear,  the  wine  had  less  effect  upon  me 
than  usual.  The  floods  of  most  excellent  claret  seemed 
to  fall  cold  upon  my  heart ;  and  I  sat  quiet  and  un- 
moved, as  if  the  exhilarating  agency  of  the  wine  were 
entirely  locked  up  for  a  season.  The  Marquis  himself, 
I  saw,  or  thought  I  saw,  began  to  lose  his  usual  stea- 
diness ;  Burton  seemed  transformed  into  the  red  bronze 
statue  of  an  ancient  Bacchus,  and  I  felt  that  I  myself 
was  the  only  perfectly  unchanged  and  sober  being  in 
the  room.  Suddenly,  however,  there  was  a  change. 
The  wine,  which  had  apparently  been  checked  in  its 
effects  by  the  appalling  communication  of  my  being 
doomed  to  a  certain  and  ignominious  death,  now 
rushed  with  the  fury  of  a  pent-up  torrent  into  my  brain, 
and,  in  a  moment,  I  heard  strange  sounds,  as  of  a  bat- 
tery of  a  thousand  guns  stunning  my  ears  ;  troops  of 
blood-stained  soldiers,  beyond  all  number  numberless, 
seemed  to  mingle  in  the  death-struggle  before  my  eyes, 
and  again  the  feelings  of  intensest  fear  took  possession 
of  ray  being ;  l  shrieked  and  yelled  like  a  maniac,  as 
if  in  the  midst  of  a  tremendous  melee,  and  faintly  cry- 
ing out — the  only  piece  of  Latin  I  had  brought  with 
me  from  school — "  Dulce  et  decorum  est  pro  patria 
mori,"  I  fell  exhausted  among  the  aids-de-camp  and 
bottles  which  were  huddled  together  under  the  table. 
Before,  however,  sinking  into  entire  oblivion,  I  heard 


35 

his  lordship  say,  in  a  tone  of  admiration,  to  Burton, 
"  The  ruling  passion  strong  in  death.  If  he  survives 
for  six  months,  that  fellow  will  die  a  field-marshal — 
Pass  the  bottle." 

When  I  awoke  to  a  consciousness  of  my  situation 
next  morning,  I  found  my  feelings  of  apprehension  by 
no  means  removed.  No  way  of  escape  from  the  dreaded 
advancement  presented  itself  to  my  ingenuity ;  and  at 
length,  with  the  recklessness  of  despair,  I  resolved  to 
abide  the  chances ;  and  sincerely  did  I  pray,  as  you 
will  readily  believe,  for  the  speedy  and  complete  reco- 
very of  the  unfortunate  Pilpay.    I  presented  myself  to 
the" Marchioness.     Heavens  !  thought  I,  are  the  ladies 
also  in  the  diabolical  plot  upon  my  life  ? — They  con- 
gratulated me  on  the  prospect  of  a  prolonged  acquaint- 
ance, and  expressed,  in  the  kindest  terms,  the  interest 
they  took  in  my  future  prospects.    Gracious  Powers  ! 
can  such  cold-hearted  beings  assume  the  appearance 
of  so  much  cordiality  and  friendship  ?  In  three  months 
and  two  days  my  earthly  career  would  inevitably  be 
finished,  and  they  talked  to  me  about  my  future  pros- 
pects ! ! — Hypocrites  ! — I  turned   towards  the    Lady 
Annabella,  who  had  not  yet  spoken.  She  held  out  her 
hand  to  me  as  I  advanced.     I  took  it  and  bent  over  it, 
almost  fearing  to  hear  the  sound  of  her  voice,  lest  it 
should  be  in  the  tone  of  congratulation, — but  she  said 
nothing — and  in  silence,  and  with  a  feeling  of  increased 
devotion,  I  bowed  again,  and  let  go  her  hand.     That 
hour  finally  and  for  ever  sealed  my  fate ;  it  also,  strange 
as  it  may  appear, — for  in  spite  of  my  natural  timidity, 
I  am  somewhat  sanguine  in  my  temperament, — gave 
me  hopes  of  ultimate  success  ;  and  resolving  to  set 
everything — you  will  forgive  the  pun — on  the  hazard 
of  a  die,  I  announced  to  the  Marquis  that  I  was  pre- 
pared to  succeed  Captain  Pilpay,  incase  of  his  decease. 
There  seemed  now  to  be  established  a  secret  under- 
standing between  Lady  Annabella  and  myself.    It  was 
friendship,  delicate,  considerate  friendship,  on  her  part, 
and  yet  it  was  so  uniform  and  so  evidently  springing 
from  the  heart,  that  it  was  fully  equal  in  tenderness  and 


36 

strength  to  many  an  ordinary-minded  woman's  love. 
Fitz  D'Angle  continued  his  visits  regularly  :  but  I  sup- 
pose, from  some  undefined  feeling  of  rivalry,  there 
was  a  mutual  dislike  between  us.  I  envied  him,  indeed, 
his  situation,  as  acknowledged  suitor  to  the  most  beau- 
tiful and  fascinating  of  her  sex ;  but  jealousy  itself  could 
see  no  cause  for  regret  in  the  manner  in  which  he  was 
treated  by  his  mistress.  Cold,  formal,  and  apparently 
unfeeling,  she  scarcely  seemed  the  same  being  when 
conversing  with  the  conceited  coxcomb,  whom  her 
family,  and  not  herself,  had  chosen  for  her  lord  ;  and 
often  I  have  seen  her  eyes  wandering  with  the  most 
listless  expression,  during  his  "bald  disjointed  chat," 
and  then  suddenly  fill,  even  to  overflowing,  with  tears  ! 
— Gods  !  if  I  could  have  summoned  one  ounce  of  the 
courage  of  a  man,  I  would  have  challenged  the  cold- 
hearted  puppy,  and  freed  the  angelic  mourner  from  his 
persecution.  But  no  !  I  made  the  attempt  to  rouse  my 
indignation  in  vain.  Though  my  life  I  knew  was  li- 
mited to  but  three  months  and  two  days,  I  would  not 
risk  even  that  minute  fraction  of  existence  against  the 
contemptible  destroyer  of  my  happiness. 

I  pass  over  the  first  week  or  two  of  my  duty  as  aid- 
de-camp  to  the  Marquis — for  Pilpay,  to  my  infinite 
dismay  and  astonishment,  died  on  the  very  day  the  li- 
queur case  was  emptied.  I  pass  over  my  fears  at  night, 
my  enjoyments  in  the  morning,  and  will  tell  you  an 
incident  which  occurred  when  my  span  of  life  was  re- 
duced to  only  two  months  and  sixteen  days  : — At  that 
time  there  was  a  magnificent  review  in  Hyde  Park. 
The  Marquis,  with  the  whole  of  his  glittering  staff, 
proceeded  to  the  ground.  I  must  tell  you,  that  at  that 
period  my  horses — the  quietest  and  gentlest  animals  I 
could  procure, — were,  unfortunately,  unfit  for  service, 
and  Fitz  D'Angle,  who  had  remarked,  and  as  I  sus- 
pected, ridiculed  my  inefficient  horsemanship,  had 
spitefully,  and  I  firmly  believe,  with  the  purpose  of 
getting  me  murdered,  pressed  me  to  make  use  of  that 
very  Arabian  which  had  so  frequently  terrified  me  even 
with  my  hated  rival  upon  its  back.    Afraid  to  accept 


37 

his  offer,  and  not  knowing  how  to  refuse,  I  mounted  it 
in  an  agony  of  apprehension,  and  accompanied  the 
Marquis,  who  luckily  went  at  a  footpace,  to  the  field. 
The  ladies,  it  was  arranged,  were  to  be  driven  by  Fitz 
D'Angle,  in  his  splendid  new  barouche  ;  for  among  that 
individual's  other  acquirements,  his  skill  as  a  charioteer 
was  not  the  least  remarkable.  The  day  was  uncom- 
monly fine,  and  thousands  of  the  gayest  and  loveliest 
in  the  land  were  assembled  to  watch  our  manoeuvres — 
and  yet,  as  I  rode  slowly  along  that  glittering  line  of 
rank  and  beauty,  terrified  as  I  was  at  the  hideous  danger 
of  my  situation  on  such  a  demoniacal  horse,  I  took  a 
sort  of  pride  in  reflecting  that  there  were  no  eyes  so 
bright,  no  lips  so  lovely,  as  those  of  that  radiant  crea- 
ture on  whom  I — a  poltroon  and  a  coward — had  dared 
to  fix  my  affection.  The  Marquis,  in  the  mean  time, 
slowly  continued  his  course,  laughing  and  talking  with 
his  staff  in  the  gayest  humour  imaginable.  All  his  jokes 
— "  and  many  a  joke  had  he,"  fell  unmarked  upon  my 
ear  ; — at  last,  after  looking  at  me  for  some  time,  dur- 
ing which  I  was  afraid  he  was  guessing  a  great  deal 
top  near  the  truth,  he  said,  "  How  silent  you  are, 
Pumpkin — ha  !  but  I  see  how  it  is — you  fire-eaters 
hate  such  a  bloodless  show  as  this — you  must  rein  in, 
man,  you  must  rein  in."  At  this  time  the  animal  I 
was  on  began  to  show  sundry  signs  of  impatience,  and 
bounced  about  in  a4  manner  which  added  in  no  slight 
degree  to  my  uneasiness,  and  as  only  the  last  words  of 
the  Marquis  reached  me  distinctly,  L  said,  "  Rein  in  ? 
How  can  I,  my  lord,  on  such  a  prancing  devil  as  this  ?" 
For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  taken  for  a  wit. 
The  laughter  at  this  sally,  as  it  was  called,  was  long 
and  loud,  and  I  had  the  reputation  of  being  as  gay  as 
my  companions,  when  there  was  not  a  single  indivi- 
dual in  the  crowd  safely  on  his  own  legs,  with  whom 
at  that  moment  I  would  not  gladly  have  changed 
places.  At  last  the  evolutions  began,  and  as  the  troops 
filed  and  counter-marched,  advanced  in  double  quick 
to  the  charge,  and  went  through  all  the  movements  of 
a  desperate  and  well-contested  battle,  my  horse  and 
4 





38 

myself  seemed  to  lose  our  senses  almost  at  the  same 
moment — but  from  very  different  causes.  It  danced, 
it  capered,  it  reared,  it  curveted,  and  till  this  hour  it 
is  a  mystery  to  me  how  I  retained  my  seat.  I  can  only 
attribute  it  to  a  total  inaction  on  my  part.  Passive  as 
a  lump  of  inanimate  matter,  I  was  probably  balanced 
by  my  length  of  limb,  but  certain  it  is,  that  for  a  con- 
siderable time  I  attracted  no  particular  observation.  At 
last,  as  the  artillery  began  to  peal,  there  was  a  consi- 
derable movement  among  many  of  the  horses  on  the 
ground  which  were  unacquainted  with  the  noise, 
amongst  the  rest  my  horse  fairly  got  the  command. 
He  rushed  with  the  speed  of  lightning  from  the  group, 
where  he  had  hitherto  remained,  and  carried  me,  almost 
by  this  time  unconscious  of  my  situation,  straight  to- 
wards the  artillery  ;  by  some  means  or  other  I  still 
maintained  my  seat,  and  by  a  lucky  twitch  of  the 
bridle,  I  turned  him  from  coming  into  contact  with  the 
cannon.  At  that  moment  I  saw  coming  towards  me  a 
barouche  at  a  fearful  rate  ;  the  driver  of  whom,  even 
in  the  agony  of  that  moment,  I  recognized  as  Fitz  D'- 
Angle,  had  lost  all  mastery  over  his  horses,  which  were 
evidently  hurrying  on  to  destruction  ;  I  heard  a  scream 
louder  and  louder  as  I  approached,  and  at  length,  with 
hands  clenched  in  despair,  and  eyes  shut  in  the  over- 
whelming misery  of  approaching  death,  I  felt  a  shock — 
I  heard  one  wild  shout  of  exultation  from  the  multitudes 
on  every  side,  and  sunk  insensible,  I  knew  not  where. 
When  I  came  to  myself,  the  old  Marquis  was  bending 
over  me  with  tears  in  his  eyes — "  Bless  you,  bless 
you,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  saw  I  had  in  some  de- 
gree recovered  my  consciousness,  "  you  are  the  pre- 
server of  everything  I  hold  dear."  With  my  usual 
prudence  I  remained  perfectly  silent,  till  I  could  gather 
something  of  what  had  occurred.  On  looking  round, 
I  saw  at  a  little  distance  the  cause  of  all  my  misery, 
the  Arabian  charger,  lying  dead  ;  but  the  barouche,  the 
ladies,  and  Fitz  D'Angle,  had  totally  disappeared.  On 
getting  up,  I  found  myself  only  slightly  bruised,  with 
the  exception  of  a  considerable  wound  on  my  head. 


39 

My  cap  had  fallen  off,  and  on  putting  my  hand  up  to 
the  spot  of  greatest  pain,  I  found  the  blood  issuing  in 
rather  a  copious  stream.  I  was  shortly  afterwards  put 
into  a  carriage,  and  taken  immediately  to  the  residence 
of  the  Marquis.  On  arriving  there,  no  words  can  paint 
the  kindness  with  which  I  was  received ;  the  thanks 
of  the  Marchioness  and  the  lady  Julia  were  perfectly 
embarrassing,  especially  as  I  was  ignorant  of  the  pre- 
cise manner  in  which  I  had  deserved  them.  His  lord- 
ship, who  had  hurried  as  fast  as  possible  from  the  re- 
view, now  rushed  in,  and  again,  with  his  eyes  over- 
flowing with  tears,  seized  me  by  both  hands,  and 
thanked  me  for  my  heroic  devotion  in  the  service  of 
his  family.  "  'Twas  beautiful.  My  God  !  how  you 
spanked   off  when  you  saw   their  danger  !  and  that 

puppy   Fitz   D'Angle,  too,   d e,   my  boy,  you 

served  him  quite  right — you've  floored  him,  nose  teeth, 
mustaches,  and  all— he'll  never  be  able  to  smile  and 
simper  again  as  long  as  he  lives." 

"  I  hope,  my  lord,"  said  I,  "  Mr.  Fitz  D'Angle  is 
not  much  hurt  ?" 

"  How  the  devil  can  you  hope  any  such  thing  ?  The 
fellow  would  have  murdered  my  wife  and  children  with 
his  confounded  folly,  if  you  had  not  arrested  him  just 
in  time.  'Gad,  you  flew  from  your  saddle  with  the 
force  of  a  Congreve  rocket,  and  dashed  your  head  right 
into  his  face,  bent  him  back  as  limber  as  an  empty  hav- 
resack  across  the  coach-box,  and  knocked  three  of  his 
teeth  down  his  throat,  besides  one  that  was  picked  up 
afterwards  from  his  waistcoat  pocket.  You've  killed 
his  horse,  though,  and  that  was  perhaps  the  most  valu- 
able animal  of  the  two." 

I  now  began  to  see  how  matters  had  occurred,  and 
as  I  was  very  slightly  hurt,  I  waited  with  some  impa- 
tience for  the  approach  of  the  Lady  Annabella.  All 
that  day  she  never  made  her  appearance.  She  sent 
frequently  down  to  inquire  if  I  was  hurt,  and  my 
hopes,  both  by  her  non-appearance  and  by  the  manner 
in  which  the  Marquis  spoke  of  Fitz  D'Angle,  were 
raised  to  the  highest  pitch.  That  evening  the  Marquis 


40 

himself  excused  me  from  all  participation  in  their  re- 
vels ;  and  next  morning — how  shall  I  describe  the  scene  ! 
— the  Lady  Annabella  met  me  in  the  breakfast  parlour 
alone ;  she  blushed  in  the  most  embarrassed  manner, 
as,  in  a  faltering  voice,  she  offered  me  her  thanks. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said,  "  could  be  sufficient  to  show 
her  gratitude  to  her  preserver — thanks  were  a  very  in- 
adequate expression  of  what  she  felt." 

"  Believe  me,  Lady  Annabella,"  I  said,  "I  do  not 
deserve  such  thanks.  I  was  run  away  with  at  the 
moment, — I  lost  all  command  of — of — — " 

"  Of  your  generous  feelings,"  she  interrupted, 
"  when  you  saw  us — I  shudder  at  the  recollection — 
hurried  on  to  inevitable  destruction." 

I  said  no  more;  my  attempts  at  fair  dealing  and  in- 
genuousness were  turned  off  by  the  grateful  heart  of 
that  beautiful  girl, — and  on  that  day,  in  that  hour,  I 
ventured — to  declare  my  passion,  and  as  I  saw  a  silent 
and  blushing  consent  yielded  to  my  suit,  I  caught  her 
in  my  arms,  trembling  with  emotion,  and  imprinted 
the  first  rapturous  kiss  on  the  red  ruby  lips  of  the  pre- 
sent Lady  Pumpkin. 

Mr.  Fitz  D'Angle,  I  must  tell  you,  had  been  dis- 
missed the  day  before,  and  in  no  courteous  terras,  by 
the  choleric  old  Marquis  ;  and  this  measure  of  her  fa- 
ther, you  may  readily  suppose  from  what  I  have  told 
you,  was  by  no  means  an  unpleasant  event  to  the  Lady 
Annabella. 

By  the  interest  of  the  family,  I  was  advanced  rapidly 
in  my  profession,  without  drawing  a  sword — and  the 

day  which  saw  me  Colonel  of  the horse,  also  saw 

me  the  happiest  of  men,  and  son-in-law  to  the  Marquis. 

Blessed  with  a  wife  whose  affection  till  this  hour 
has  been  unvarying  in  every  trial,  I  found  myself  more 
fondly  attached  to  life  and  safety  than  before.  I  trem- 
bled at  every  order  from  the  war-office,  lest  it  should 
doom  my  regiment  to  the  glories  of  foreign  service  ; 
and,  in  fact,  if  I  were  to  relate  to  you  the  whole  pu- 
sillanimity of  my  feelings,  you  would  scarcely  believe 
that  I  managed  so  to  conceal  them  as  to  escape  obser- 


41 

vation  and  disgrace.  This,  however,  I  did.  People 
are  luckily  very  much  in  the  habit  of  attaching  the 
idea  of  heroism  and  courage  to  a  long  sword  and 
feathers.  There  is  no  surer  protection  from  bullying 
and  insult  than  a  military  dress.  I  therefore  hail  as  a 
brother  coward,  anxious  to  make  up  in  appearance 
what  he  wants  in  reality,  any  one,  who,  in  the  piping 
times  of  peace,  infests  the  coffee-room  or  the  theatre  in 
the  habiliments  of  war.  His  courage  decreases  in  my 
estimation  as  his  spurs  are  lengthened ; — a  braided 
surtout  you  may  treat  as  cavalierly  as  you  like — but 
if  in  addition  to  that  the  poltroon  shelters  his  coward- 
ice beneath  a  hat  with  a  military  cock,  a  regimental 
stock,  and  jingling  spurs  of  inordinate  longitude,  you 
may  very  safely  kick  him  on  the  slightest  provocation 
without  any  chance  of  disagreeable  consequences.  I 
speak  on  this  subject  from  experience.  My  uniform, 
I  am  convinced,  stood  sponsor  on  many  occasions  for 
my  courage,  and  I  remained  undiscovered  only  be- 
cause I  was  entirely  unsuspected.  Even  my  wife  till 
this  hour  believes  me  to  be  a  very  lion  in  the  pugna- 
city of  my  disposition.  She  talks  of  me  as  a  volcano 
whose  proper  atmosphere  is  fire  and  smoke, — as  a 
sort  of  dare-devil,  to  whom  life  affords  no  enjoyment 
equal  to  the  opportunity  of  throwing  it  away  ;  and  ab- 
solutely, at  this  moment,  is  pining  for  the  breaking 
out  of  a  war,  that  I  may  be  enabled,  so  she  says,  to 
revel  in  the  delights  of  a  campaign, — which,  in  my 
apprehension,  is  only  another  word  for  the  expression 
in  the  litany  of  "  battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death," 
— to  which  petition,  by  the  by,  I  always  (perhaps 
involuntarily)  feel  a  peculiar  glow  of  sincerity  and  de- 
votion as  I  enunciate  the  response. 

But  I  must  get  on  with  my  story  :  My  happiness 
was  complete — my  father-in-law  continued  his  kind- 
ness— and  from  every  member  of  his  family  I  received 
tokens  of  the  highest  consideration.  My  rival,  how- 
ever, Fitz  D'Angle,  did  not  bear  his  disappointment 
with  the  equanimity  which  his  apparent  indifference 
had  led  me  to  expect.     Whether  he  in  any  way  sus- 


42 

pected  how  matters  were,  I  do  not  know,  but  he  cer- 
tainly, whenever  circumstances  brought  us  together, 
treated  me  with  a  coldness  and  hauteur  which  I  felt 
very  frequently  approached  to  the  limits  of  insult.  I 
bore  his  behaviour  with  my  usual  calmness ;  for 
though  I  hated  him,  and  was  vexed  beyond  measure 
by  the  mode  of  conduct  which  he  assumed  towards 
me,  yet  fear  predominated,  and  I  cautiously  abstained 
from  giving  offence,  and  laboured  most  assiduously  to 
avoid  the  necessity  of  taking  it.  But  in  vain.  One 
evening  there  was  a  large  party  at  the  distinguished 
old  Countess  of  Fribleton's.  The  whole  suit  of  noble 
apartments  was  thrown  open,  and  the  company  con- 
sisted of  the  elite  of  the  society  of  London.  I  went 
along  with  my  wife  and  the  Marquis ;  and  as  I  never 
had  any  great  predilection  for  entertainments  of  that 
kind,  I  retired  to  as  quiet  a  situation  as  I  could  find, 
and  looked  with  considerable  interest  on  the  glittering 
scene.  At  the  period  I  mention,  England  was  in  arms 
against  nearly  ah  the  world,  and  war  was  of  course  a 
very  general  subject  of  conversation.  Amongst  the 
company  were  many  officers  of  distinction.  In  a  short 
time  a  group  of  military  men  had  gathered  near  the 
place  where  I  sat,  and  discussed  with  great  earnest- 
ness the  movements  of  the  contending  armies.  Upon 
several  occasions  my  opinion  was  asked,  and  listened 
to,  even  by  the  grey-haired  veterans  of  a  hundred 
fights,  with  deference  and  respect.  But  Fitz  D'Angle, 
who  was  one  of  the  party,  bore  on  his  fine  aristocratic 
features  a  sneer  of  haughty  scorn,  which  I  attempted 
in  vain  to  avoid  noticing.  To  everything  I  said  he 
made  some  frivolous  or  disparaging  reply,  till  at  last  I 
evidently  perceived  that  several  of  the  auditors  seemed 
surprised  at  my  passive  endurance  of  his  impertinence. 
But  the  effort  to  summon  courage  to  take  the  expected 
notice  of  his  behaviour  was  beyond  my  power ;  and  I 
still  submitted  with  outward  calmness,  though  inter- 
nally a  victim  to  the  mingled  struggles  of  anger  and 
fear.  The  Marquis  now  joined  die  group,  and  I  was 
in  hopes  his  presence  might  act  as  a  restraint  on  Fitz 


43 

D'Angle.  But  that  individual  perceived  he  was  very 
safe  in  the  conduct  he  pursued ;  and,  again,  when  I 
was  answering  a  question,  which  the  celebrated  Field 
Marshal  Firespit  did  me  the  honour  to  propose  to  me, 
he  contradicted  me  in  one  of  my  assertions,  without 
any  of  the  circumlocutions  with  which  a  gentleman 
generally  softens  the  expression  of  a  difference  in 
opinion.  I  stopped  short,  and  looked  him  full  in  the 
face,  and  though  at  that  moment  I  felt  as  uncomforta- 
ble as  I  had  ever  done  in  my  life,  not  a  muscle  moved, 
not  a  nerve  was  shaken,  and  even  the  bold  eye  of  Fitz 
D'Angle  sank  beneath  the  fixed  but  inexpressive  look. 
My  eye  was  literally  dead, — it  had  absolutely  divested 
itself  of  all  meaning  whatsoever,  and  in  that  instance 
it  was  a  complete  index  to  my  mind.  I  was  at  that 
moment  as  perfectly  without  an  idea  of  any  sort  or 
kind  as  a  statue ;  I  knew  not  whether,  as  the  vulgar 
saying  has  it,  I  stood  on  my  head  or  my  heels  ;  and 
the  silence  produced  by  my  lengthened  gaze,  added  to 
my  embarrassment.  At  last  Fitz  D'Angle  recovered 
his  self-possession,  and  said,  ''Colonel  Pumpkin,  will 
you  be  kind  enough,  sir,  to  explain  the  meaning  of  the 
look  you  have  done  me  the  honour  to  fix  on  me  for 
the  last  few  minutes?" — "My  look,  sir?"  I  said. 
"  Yes,  your  look  ;  for  allow  me  to  tell  you,  that  I  per- 
mit no  such  rude  and  insulting  stare  to  be  fixed  on  me 
by  a  prince  or  peer,  and  far  less  by  a  parvenu." 
Here  I  saw  a  slight  opening  for  escape,  and  replied, — 
"  Mr.  Fitz  D'Angle,  I  waive  on  this  occasion  all  dis- 
cussions with  respect  to  birth, — yours  I  know  is  lofty, 
mine  I  confess  to  be  comparatively  humble — but  were 
our  situations  in  that  respect  changed,  depend  on  it  I 

should  scorn  to  cast  any  thing  in  your  teeth " 

— "  Except  your  head  !"  continued  the  old  Marquis, 
who  evidently  enjoyed  the  scene.  Fitz  D'Angle  lost 
all  patience  upon  this.  "  Sir,  your  infamous  conduct 
in  inflicting  such  an  injury  on  an  unprepared  man,  is 
only  equalled  by  your  cowardly  baseness  in  thus  re- 
ferring to  it.  I  shall  expect  satisfaction." — "  Stay, 
Mr.  Fitz  D'Angle,"  I  said  in  a  state  of  the  highest 


44 

alarm,  "  I  shall  do  all  I  can  to  avoid  a  duel,  which  I 
have  always  dreaded  more  than  almost  anything  else  ; 
I  shall  fairly  tell  you  how  everything  occurred— I 
shall  confess  to  you,  once  for  all,  that  you  have  on 
many  occasions  showed  much  more  courage  than  ever 
I  possessed,  and  that  I  am  anxious  to  avoid  even  the 
remotest  chance  of  depriving  your  country  of  such 
valuable  services,  as  I  doubt  not  you  have  often  ren- 
dered her."  As  I  said  these  words,  there  was  a  con- 
cealed sort  of  smile  went  round  the  circle,  and,  darting 
on  me  a  look  of  even  greater  rage  than  before,  Fitz 
D'Angle  turned  away,  and  in  a  few  minutes  left  the 
room.  My  confusion  at  this  incident  was  unbounded. 
I  felt  there  was  no  possibility  of  drawing  back,  that 
fight  I  must,  and  death  and  infamy  presented  them- 
selves to  my  imagination  in  every  hideous  form. 

The  Marquis  slapt  me  on  the  shoulder,  "  Gave  it 
him  well,  my  boy  ;  cursed  severe  though  on  the  little 
silken  puppy — Why,  man,  what  services  has  he  ren- 
dered ?  Gad,  that  was  the  best  hit  of  all.  Come,  let 
us  have  a  bottle  or  two  of  wine,  it  will  steady  your 
hand  in  the  morning ;  you  shall  sleep  at  my  house  to- 
night, and  we  shall  singe  Master  Fitz's  whiskers  at 
peep  of  day.  Come  along."  And  away  Ave  went. 
As  unconscious  as  a  child,  I  followed  the  old  warrior 
— arrived  at  his  house — was  seated  at  table  with  half 
a  dozen  bottles  before  us,  and  had  swallowed  several 
bumpers,  one  after  another,  as  fast  as  they  could  be 
poured  out,  before  I  recovered  my  senses  enough  to 
recollect  the  disagreeable  scrape  in  which  I  was  in- 
volved. When  the  whole  scene  recurred  to  my  re- 
membrance, I  searched  through  every  expression 
which  I  had  uttered,  to  discover,  if  possible,  some  op- 
portunity to  retract  or  explain.  But  I  could  find  no 
means  whatsoever.  What  I  had  said  in  the  alarm  of 
the  moment  by  way  of  soothing  his  irritation,  had  un- 
fortunately increased  it.  I  therefore  endeavoured  to 
make  up  my  mind  to  undergo  the  risk  of  a  meeting. 
I  comforted  myself  with  thinking  of  the  multitude  of 
duels  which  are  fought  every  year  without  being  at- 


45 

tended  with  bloodshed — but  then  always  at  the  end  of 
a  long  list  of  these  innocent  encounters  came  the  ap- 
palling recollection  of  some  horrible  meeting  where 
both  the  principals  were  killed,  and  this  reduced  me 
to  the  same  state  of  apprehension  as  at  first.  In  the 
midst  of  these  disagreeable  reflections,  a  gentleman 
was  announced  as  coming  from  Mr.  Fitz  D'Angle. 
Mechanically,  I  took  the  note  which  he  presented  me, 
read  it,  and  gave  it  over  to  the  Marquis  without  say- 
ing a  word.     It  was  to  the  following  effect : 

"  Sir, — after  the  sneer  at  my  want  of  service,  and 
the  implication  against  my  courage  in  which  you 
thought  proper  to  indulge,  by  comparing  it  with  the 
heroism  which,  I  allow,  you  have  on  every  occasion 
displayed,  you  will  not  be  surprised  at  the  course  I 
have  taken.  My  friend,  Major  Blood,  will  arrange 
everything  for  as  speedy  a  meeting  as  possible  with 
any  gentleman  you  may  choose  to  appoint.  I  remain, 
sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

"  Henry  Fitz  D'Angle." 

"Fore  George!"  said  the  Marquis,  when  he  had 
read  it,  "  this  is  capital — there  is  more  in  the  younker 
than  I  gave  him  credit  for.  Pummy,  my  boy,  leave 
the  room  for  a  few  minutes,  and  Major  Blood  and  I 
will  settle  the  preliminaries, — you  shall  soon  come 
back,  and  we  can  have  a  comfortable  evening."  Mar- 
velling at  the  strange  idea  some  people  entertain  of  a 
comfortable  evening,  I  did  as  I  was  desired ;  I  heard 
from  the  adjoining  room  the  low  sound  of  their  con- 
versation, and  sometimes  I  caught  the  quick  short 
laugh  of  the  Marquis,  from  which  I  could  perceive  he 
was  delighted  with  the  whole  adventure.  In  a  short 
time  I  heard  the  Major  retire,  and  I  resumed  my  seat 
by  the  side  of  the  Marquis.  M  All  right,  my  boy,"  he 
said  when  I  went  in  ;  "  Major  Blood  seems  a  pleasant 
gentlemanly  man,  and  agreed  to  the  shortest  possible 
distance  the  moment  I  proposed  it.  Long  pistols,  six 
paces,  fire  at  the  dropping  of  the  handkerchief,  that's 
the  short  way  of  doing  business  ;  now  fill  your  glass, 


46 

—Shall  you  kill  him  the  first  fire  ?"— "  Kill  him? 
Good  God !  I  hope  not."  "  That's  a  good  kind-hearted 
fellow  !  No,  no,  I  should  not  like  to  see  him  altogether 
killed,  but  you  shall  have  my  own  hair-triggers,  the 
same  that  did  for  my  poor  friend  Danby,  in  72 — and 
egad  you  must  wing  him  ;  I  should  recommend  the 
right  arm,  but  of  course  in  that  you  will  please  yourself 
— half  past  5,  Wimbledon  Common — Don't  you  think 
everything  most  delightfully  settled?" — "Oh  delight- 
fully !"  I  said,  without  exactly  understanding  what 
the  word  meant,  and  drank  off  my  wine  with  the  cool- 
est air  in  the  world.  My  conversation  you  will  be- 
lieve was  not  very  vivacious.  Indeed  there  was  no  great 
occasion  for  me  to  speak  at  all ;  the  Marquis  was  in 
extravagantly  high  spirits,  and  told  me  several  of  his 
feats  in  the  same  way  in  his  youth.  He  never  for  a 
moment  seemed  to  doubt  that  I  entered  with  great  en- 
joyment into  all  his  anecdotes,  but,  alas  !  my  thoughts 
ran  in  a  very  different  channel.  I  cannot  say  that  the 
fear  of  death  was  ;he  most  powerful  of  my  tormentors, 
—the  dread  of  disgrace  was  still  greater  ;  I  felt  almost 
certain  that  my  secret  could  be  kept  no  longer,  that  my 
nerve  would  at  last  give  way,  and  I  knew  that  the 
slightest  tremor  would  betray  me  at  once  to  so  calm 
and  quicksighted  a  judge  as  the  Marquis.  But  the 
evening  at  last  came  to  an  end.  The  old  man  shook 
me  very  affectionately  by  the  hand,  before  we  separated 
for  the  night,  and  said,  "  Sleep  soundly,  my  boy,  it 
will  do  your  aim  good  in  the  morning — what  I  like 
about  you  is  your  coolness — no  boasting,  no  passion, 
all  as  composed  as  if  you  were  only  going  to  breakfast 
— you'll  wing  him  to  a  certainty  ;  so  now  good  night." 
I  shall  not  attempt  any  description  of  my  thoughts 
when  left  to  myself.  Suffice  it,  that  after  a  sleepless 
night  I  proceeded  with  the  Marquis  in  his  barouche  to 
the  place  of  meeting.  In  a  few  minutes  after  our  ar- 
rival, the  opposite  parties  came  upon  the  ground.  I 
can  scarcely  go  on  with  what  followed,  for  at  the  time 
I  was  totally  unconscious  of  everything  that  occurred. 
My  knowledge  of  it  is  derived  from  what  was  told  ine 
after  it  was  over.   We  were  placed  opposite  each  other 


47 

at  what  I  could  not  help  even  then  considering  a  most 
appalling  degree  of  propinquity  ;  I  looked  as  fixedly  as 
I  could  at  my  opponent,  but  a  mist  of  some  sort  or 
other  was  spread  before  my  eyes,  and  I  could  see 
merely  the  outline  of  his  figure,  though  he  was  not 
farther  from  me  than  eighteen  feet.  The  handkerchief 
dropt.  I  pulled  the  trigger,  and  stood  in  the  exact  atti- 
tude in  which  I  had  been  placed  by  my  second.  There 
was  a  considerable  bustle  the  moment  after  I  had  fired, 
but  my  faculties  were  so  entranced  by  my  fear  and 
agitation,  that  I  could  not  discover  the  cause  of  the 
disturbance.  At  last  the  Marquis  came  up  to  me  and 
whispered  something  or  other,  the  import  of  which  I 
did  not  exactly  catch.  I  expected  he  would  have  put 
another  pistol  into  my  hand,  but  in  this  I  was  disap- 
pointed. Surprised  at  the  delay,  I  said  to  him,  "  Is  it 
all  over  ?" — "  No — I  hope  it  is  not  over  with  him  yet ; 
but  he  is  desperately  wounded  ;  let  us  return  to  town, 
he  has  a  surgeon  with  him.  Egad,  it  was  just  in  the 
place  I  told  you;  a  little  below  the  right  shoulder — 
Did  not  the  trigger  go  easily  ? — Allons,  allons." 

Mr.  Fitz  D'Angle  recovered,  and  my  fame  was  still 
farther  increased.  The  Marquis  was  in  raptures  with 
my  calmness  and  self-possession,  and  even  Major  Blood 
and  my  antagonist  bore  testimony  to  the  undaunted  re- 
solution and  coolness  of  my  behaviour.  The  duel  made 
a  considerable  noise  at  the  time,  and  various  grounds 
were  assigned  for  it ;  but  all  accounts  agreed  in  stating 
that  I  was  entirely  free  from  blame,  as  I  had  avoided 
takingf  notice  of  the  intentional  disrespect  of  my  oppo- 
nent as  long  as  I  possibly  could.  It  had  even  reached 
the  ears  of  the  most  exalted  personage  in  the  realm,  as 
I  discovered  the  next  time  I  presented  myself  at  court. 
"  Bad  thing— bad  thing,  indeed— duel,  duel,  Colonel 
Pumpkin ; — but  couldn't  help  it — bore  it  as  long  as  you 
could. — Keep  your  bullets  for  the  enemy  next  time, 
Colonel ;— we  can't  let  you  risk  your  life  any  more. — 
No  duels — no  more  duels." 

The  war  in  which  we  were  engaged  asumed  at 
this  time  a  very  critical  appearance.     Our  allies  had 


48 

been  vanquished  in  every  battle,  and  considerable  ap- 
prehensions were  entertained  of  an  invasion  of  our  own 
shores.  In  order  to  guard  against  this,  forces  were 
stationed  almost  all  along  the  coast,  and  I  was  appointed 
to  the  chief  command  of  a  very  large  district  of  coun- 
try, and  an  amount  of  force  of  above  seventy  thousand 
men.  In  this,  I  of  course  include  the  yeomanry  and 
the  militias.  I  was  now  Major-General  before  I  was 
eight-and-twenty  years  of  age,  a  thing  which,  so  far  as 
I  am  aware,  had  at  that  time  no  parallel  in  the  service. 

I  fixed  my  head-quarters  at ,  as  being  the  point  in 

my  district  most  remote  from  the  scene  of  danger,  and 
kept  a  considerable  force  in  my  own  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood, in  order  to  cover  my  escape,  should  the  ene- 
my succeed  in  affecting  a  landing.  Whether  it  was 
that  I  pulled  the  reins  of  discipline  too  tight,  or  from 
some  other  cause,  I  do  not  pretend  to  decide,  but  in  a 
short  time  I  perceived  that  with  the  men  under  my 
command  I  was  decidedly  unpopular.  My  personal 
want  of  courage  made  me  peculiarly  strict  in  exacting 
the  most  rigorous  attention  to  duty ;  and  I  have  often 
summoned  the  poor  fellows  from  their  quarters  at  a 
moment's  notice,  in  order  to  see  what  chance  of  safety 
I  should  have  secured  to  myself  in  case  of  an  actual 
surprise.  All  this,  aided,  I  have  no  doubt,  by  other 
causes,  produced  the  effect  which  I  am  now  going  to 
relate.  In  one  of  the  regiments  which  I  had  retained 
near  me,  there  wTere  a  great  many  men,  I  was  sorry  to 
be  informed,  who  applied  themselves  more  to  political 
discussions  than  is  usual  in  a  British  soldier.  These 
were  in  the  habit  of  reading  several  radical  and  disaf- 
fected publications,  which  were  allowed,  by  the  supine- 
ness  of  the  government,  to  spread  abroad  their  anti- 
national  principles,  even  in  that  period  of  imminent 
danger  to  the  state.  This,  in  due  course  of  time,  had 
the  effect  which  might  have  been  expected.  The  officers 
exerted  themselves  in  vain  to  bring  back  their  men  to 
cheerfulness  and  content;  and  though  discipline  was  still 
preserved,  and  the  forms  of  military  subordination  gone 
through,  it  was  evident  that  the  whole  of  that  regiment 


49 

waited  only  for  an  opportunity  to  show  the  Jacobin 
spirit  with  which  they  were  possessed.  To  a  man  of 
the  disposition  which  I  have  now  confessed  myself  to 
be,  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  imagining  the  alarm 
which  this  state  of  things  produced.  I  feared  to  send 
them  to  a  distance,  as  I  concluded  my  greatest  safety 
rested  in  their  being  kept  in  awe  by  the  vicinity  of  the 
other  troops,  and  I  was  equally  disinclined  to  allow 
them  to  remain,  as  I  was  afraid  their  rage,  being  re- 
strained from  an  open  manifestation,  might  secretly 
wreak  itself  on  so  unpopular  a  commander  as,  under 
those  circumstances,  I  undoubtedly  was.  The  officers 
of  my  staff  perceived  my  uneasiness,  though  none  of 
them  ventured  to  inquire  into  the  cause.  My  usual 
calmness  and  taciturnity  stood  me  in  good  stead.  I 
never  adverted  to  the  subject  of  my  alarm — I  was  afraid 
to  let  my  mind  rest  upon  it,  and  I  felt  convinced,  if  I 
trusted  myself  to  converse  on  the  affair  at  all,  I  should 
inevitably  betray  the  unsoldierly  extent  of  my  trepida- 
tion. In  this  state  of  affairs  time  wore  on.  One  day, 
when  I  dined  with  the  regiment  which  caused  these 
apprehensions,  my  fears  were  worked  up  to  a  pitch 
which  I  was  almost  certain  must  have  betrayed  me. 
After  dinner,  a  note  was  put  into  my  hand,  which  I 
immediately  guessed  to  contain  some  information  con- 
nected with  the  subject  of  my  alarm.  I  accordingly 
took  an  early  opportunity  of  looking  into  it,  and  found 
it  to  contain  the  following  words  : — "  If  you  leave  the 
barracks  to-night  after  half  past  nine,  you  are  a  dead 
man.  This  is  a  friend's  warning — neglect  it  not."  I 
pulled  out  my  watch  in  a  moment — it  wanted  just  ten 
minutes  to  ten.  I  gave  myself  up  for  lost.  In  what 
way  could  I  invent  an  excuse  for  stopping  in  the  bar- 
racks all  night?  How  could  I  order  out  a  guard  to  see 
me  safe  to  my  head-quarters,  when,  in  all  probability, 
it  would  be  composed  of  the  very  persons  whom  I  was 
anxious  to  escape  ?  I  was  uncertain  what  to  do.  I 
had  thoughts  of  assuming  the  appearance  of  helpless 
intoxication,  and  picking  up  some  other  individual's 
hat  and  cloak  by  mistake,  in  hopes  of  deceiving  my 
5 


=—.=- — 


50 

enemies  by  a  change  of  costume  ;  but  there  were  insu- 
perable objections  to  that  mode  of  proceeding.  I  sat 
in  a  state  of  complete  bewilderment  and  dismay.  I 
thought  it  better  to  make  my  exit  with  as  little  bustle 
as  possible,  and  I  accordingly  sent  off  my  aid-de-camps 
on  different  messages,  and  at  last,  about  half  past  ten, 
took  my  leave  of  the  party,  and  proceeded  into  the 
barrack-yard  alone.  I  moved  as  quietly  as  I  could, 
keeping  carefully  under  the  shadow  of  the  walls,  till, 
when  I  got  very  nearly  to  the  gate  without  interruption, 
I  was  startled  on  hearing  a  conversation  carried  on  in 
whispers,  a  little  in  advance.  The  words  were,  of 
course,  inaudible,  though  I  passed  and  listened  with 
the  utmost  anxiety  ;  but  as  the  party  were  evidently 
advancing  to  where  I  stood,  I  slipt  cautiously  into  an 
empty  barrack-room  on  the  ground-floor,  in  hopes  of 
letting  them  pass  without  attracting  their  observation. 
I  placed  myself,  for  the  greater  security,  behind  a  large 
screen  in  the  recess  of  the  apartment,  on  which  a  num- 
ber of  soldiers'  great-coats,  and  other  articles  of  appa- 
rel, were  suspended,  and  waited  in  the  agonies  of  hope 
and  fear,  till  I  should  hear  their  steps  die  away  in  the 
distance  ;  but,  to  my  horror  and  amazement,  the  per- 
sons, whoever  they  were,  paused  at  the  very  door  I 
had  entered,  and  in  a  few  moments  I  heard  the  sub- 
dued voices  of  many  men,  and  was  aware  that  they  had 
come  into  the  very  room  to  which  I  had  fled  for  safety. 
I  heard  a  coarse  rough  voice  say,  "  The  tyrant  stays 
late  to-night — but  it's  his  last  dinner,  he  had  better  en- 
joy it  as  long  as  he  can." — "  Hush,  hush,"  said  ano- 
ther— "  let  us  to  business.  You,  Bill  Halliday,  watch 
and  give  us  notice  of  his  coming ;  and  don't  be  so  ready 
with  your  knife  —you  had  nearly  settled  Captain  Jen- 
kins, the  aid-de-camp,  in  mistake  for  the  General  him- 
self;  and  now,  comrades,  let  us  renew  our  oath  of  se- 
crecy." He  then  called  over  the  names  of  about  eight 
persons,  who  answered  severally  as  they  were  called  ; 
and  the  spokesmar  continued,  "  You  swear  to  be  firm 
and  determined  in  the  great  object  we  have  undertaken, 
to  stab  our  tyrant,  the  General,  through  the  heart  this 


51 

night ;  to  set  fire  to  the  barracks  immediately  after,  and 
prevent  the  officers'  escape  from  the  mess-room  when 
it  is  in  flames?" — "We  swear!" — "And  you  also 
swear,  whatever  inquiries  are  made,  whatever  promises 
are  held  out,  or  whatever  suspicions  are  entertained, 
never  to  divulge  your  knowledge  of  this  plot,  which- 
ever of  us  proves  lucky  enough  to  free  the  regiment 
from  such  detestable  tyrants." — "  We  swear!"     And 
the  villains,  by  the  light  of  a  dark-lantern,  subscribed 
their  names  to  a  paper  containing  these  horrible  reso- 
lutions ;  and  I  heard,  in  my  place  of  concealment,  the 
scraping  of  the  pen  which  thus  doomed  me  to  inevi- 
table death.     Need  I  tell  you  that  everything  I  had 
previously  suffered  was  as  nothing,  compared  to  the 
dreadful  situation  in  which  I  was  then  placed!  I  have 
often  wondered  since  that  insanity  was  not  produced 
by  the  intense  horror  of  that  appalling  moment.     The 
watch  they  had  stationed  at  the  door  now  came  in,  and 
informed  them  that  their  victim  approached.    In  a  mo- 
ment thev  all  rushed  out  of  the  room,  and  as  it  was  by 
this  time"  pitch-dark,  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  that  a 
faint  hope  sprang  up  in  my  bosom  that  the  desperadoes 
might  mistake  their  object.     I  intended  at  one  time  to 
rush  out  with  the  crowd,  in  hopes  of  not  being  noticed 
in  the  hurry,  but  I  had  allowed  the  opportunity  to  pass. 
I  however  possessed  myself  of  the  paper  they  had  left 
upon  the  table,  and  also  of  the  lantern  ;  and  had  scarcely 
time  to  resume  my  place  of  concealment  when  they 
re turned  into  the  room,  and  I  gathered  from  their  con- 
versation that  a  captain's  guard  was  marching  up  the 
quadrangle  from  the  gate.     I  listened  with  the  most 
painful  suspense  to  the  measured  tramp  of  many  men; 
they  approached — they  arrived  opposite  the  window 
of  the  room.  I  heard  the  command  given  to  halt;  and, 
as  my  only  chance  of  safety,  I  started  up,  and  pushing 
over  "the  screen  behind  which  I  had  sheltered,  into  the 
very  midst  of  the  conspirators,  I  rushed  to  the  door,  I 
gained  the  outside,  and  in  an  instant  informed  the  cap- 
tain in  command,  of  my  name  and  rank,  and  ordered 
him  to  guard  the  door  ;  and,  on  pain  of  death,  to  suffer 


52 

no  one  to  escape.  I  now  walked  deliberately  back  in- 
to the  dining-room,  where  the  officers  were  still  assem- 
bled, and  ordered  the  Major  to  go  down  to  No.  4  of 
the  right-hand  side  of  the  quadrangle,  and  to  bring  the 
men  he  found  in  that  room  before  me,  separately,  and 
disarmed.  I  informed  the  astonished  group  of  officers 
that  I  had  for  some  time  suspected  the  disaffection  of 
the  regiment ;  I  produced  the  paper  with  the  signature 
of  the  conspirators  attached,  and  you  will  readily  sup- 
pose the  horror  and  surprise  of  every  one  who  listened 
to  my  story.  This  you  have,  no  doubt,  heard  related 
in  a  very  different  manner.  The  newspapers,  I  re- 
member, were  full  for  several  months  of  my  intrepidity; 
and  again,  by  a  most  curious  concurrence  of  circum- 
stances, I  was  declared  to  be  a  hero,  when  the  fact  was 

that ;  but  no  matter  ;  I  have  striven  not  to  be  a 

coward,  but  in  vain.  Public  opinion  about  this  time 
was  strongly  expressed  on  the  incapacity  of  our  gene- 
rals on  foreign  service,  and  there  was  almost  an  una- 
nimous desire  that  they  should  be  superseded.  I  need 
not  inform  you  of  the  command  to  which,  contrary  to 
my  wishes  and  expectations,  I  was  soon  after  this  ap- 
pointed. 

I  was  given  to  understand,  on  having  my  destination 
pointed  out  to  me,  that  the  loftiest  expectations  were 
entertained  of  my  success,  and  the  minister  at  war  paid 
me  the  highest  compliments,  on  the  courage  and  abi- 
lity I  had  already  displayed.  The  object  of  all  these 
hopes  and  compliments — loaded  with  the  good  wishes 
of  the  whole  nation — 1  declare  to  you,  sir,  that  even 
then  I  found  it  impossible  to  summon  the  smallest  re- 
solution ;  I  trembled  as  much  as  ever  at  the  remotest 
appearance  of  dinger ;  and  while  the  thousands  who 
cheered  me  enthusiastically  as  I  stept  on  board  a  trans- 
port on  my  way  to  the  scene  of  warfare,  believed  that 
my  thoughts  were  proudly  fixed  on  glory  and  ambition : 
alas  !  they  were  only  directed  to  the  appearance  of  the 
sea,  which  was  a  great  deal  more  rough  than  suited  my 
inclination.  A  thousand  tales  of  shipwreck  and  suffer- 
ing came  vividly  into  my  mind,  and  at  every  heave  of 


53 

the  vessel  I  repented  more  and  more  intensely  that  I 
had  not  long  ago  confessed  my  weakness,  and  enjoyed 
safety  on  dry  land,  even  although  it  should  be  accom- 
panied with  contempt.  But  it  was  my  fate,  and  I  sub- 
mitted.    Besides  my  staff,  there  went  out  with  me  in 

the  transport  a  large  portion  of  the th  regiment  of 

foot.  For  several  days  our  voyage  was  smooth  and 
easy.  Even  I  had  in  some  degree  recovered  my  usual 
spirits,  and  everything  seemed  going  on  as  favourably 
as  we  could  wish.  Towards  evening,  however,  of  the 
seventh  day  from  our  leaving  the  shores  of  England,  a 
strange  sail  appeared  at  a  considerable  distance,  and 
created  same  degree  of  alarm  even  among  the  hardy 
sailors.  As  night  was  closing  in  upon  us  fast,  we  were 
in  hopes  of  avoiding  her  in  Ihe  darkness ;  and,  till  the 
dawn  again  appeared,  we  made  all  the  sail  we  could. 
By  the  first  grey  twilight  of  the  morning,  it  was  evi- 
dent our  hopes  were  fallacious.  The  ship  had  gained 
upon  us  in  the  night,  and  was  crowding  all  her  canvas 
to  come  up  with  us.  A  consultation  was  immediately 
held,  and  the  master  of  our  vessel  candidly  told  us,  that 
should  our  pursuer  prove  to  be  an  enemy,  resistance 
was  perfectly  fruitless,  as  it  was  clear  she  was  a  frigate 
of  the  very  largest  class.  I  sat  in  silence  and  conster- 
nation ;  several  of  my  officers  advised  our*  defending 
ourselves  to  the  last — my  own  desire  was  to  surrender 
on  the  first  summons,  and  so  save  the  effusion  of  blood. 
The  frigate  now  drew  near,  and  firing  a  gun  across  our 
bows,  showed  French  colours.  We  kept  all  sail  up, 
and  made  the  best  of  our  way.  My  fear  now  got  the 
upper  hand  of  my  discretion,  and  I  said  to  the  master 
of  the  transport,  "  Trust  to  me  on  this  occasion ;  I  and 
the  soldiers  will  go  below — it  will  save  many  lives ; 
yield  as  soon  as  you  can ;  but  for  any  sake  let  us  get 
quickly  under  hatches."  As  I  said  this  I  ordered  my 
soldiers  down  below,  and  slunk  as  quickly  into  the 
hold  as  I  possibly  could,  as  I  felt  certain  the  next  gun 
would  be  fired  upon  us  in  earnest.  I  lay  below  in  utter 
darkness  for  I  suppose  an  hour,  my  apprehensions  in- 
creasing with  every  minute.  After  so  considerable  a 
5* 


54 

lapse  of  time,  as  I  heard  no  more  firing,  and  had  per- 
ceived a  great  bustle  upon  the  deck,  I  concluded  that 
we  were  fairly  captured,  and  were  pursuing  our  way 
to  the  enemy's  coast.  The  heat  where  I  lay  was  op- 
pressive ;  many  of  my  men  were  huddled  together,  and 
there  was  beginning  to  be  felt  a  great  scarcity  of  fresh 
air.  The  hatches  were  down,  but  luckily  not  fixed. 
Unable  any  longer  to  bear  the  confinement,  I  said, 
"  Now,  my  lads,  let  us  get  as  quick  as  we  can  upon 
deck  ;  if  the  enemy  makes  any  show  of  violence,  we'll 
assure  them  we're  perfectly  prepared  to  strike."  These 
words,  which  I  uttered  in  the  most  hopeless  despon- 
dency, seemed  to  inspire  my  soldiers  with  the  utmost 
courage.  A  universal  shout  was  the  only  answer  they 
vouchsafed,  and  in  a  moment  the  hatches  were  thrown 
up ;  several  muskets  were  discharged — I  heard  the 
struggles  of  men  upon  the  slippery  deck,  and  ere  I 
reached  the  scene  of  action  eight  Frenchmen  lay  dead, 
and  about  twelve  others  were  driven  forward  into  the 
poop,  and  were  crying  for  quarter  with  the  most  fran- 
tic exclamations.  When  I  appeared  there  was  a  ge- 
neral hurra  ;  and  being  half  bewildered  by  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  whole  transaction,  I  ordered  the  firing 
immediately  to  cease,  and  assured  the  Frenchmen  of 
their  safety  under  my  protection.  The  master,  who 
had  been  confined  in  his  cabin,  now  joined  the  group 
on  deck,  and  assured  me  he  had  acted  exactly  accord- 
ing to  my  orders,  though  he  could  not  have  supposed 
so  gallant  an  achievement  would  be  the  result  of  what 
he  had  done.  Luckily  none  of  our  men  were  seriously 
hurt ;  and  I  heard  an  old  sergeant,  who  had  been  near 
me  in  the  hold,  expatiating  very  warmly  on  my  trans- 
cendent courage,  and  he  concluded  his  panegyric  by  a 
compliment  to  my  wit :  "  Dammee,  says  I  to  myself, 
says  I,  when  we  was  all  ordered  below,  what's  young 
Thunderbolt  (the  soubriquet  by  which  I  was  known  in 
the  ranks)  arter  now  1  Well,  we  lays  dowm  in  that 
'ere  hole,  and  the  General  he  never  says  nothin'  at  all, 
but  sits  as  quiet  and  cool  as  if  he  was  over  a  glass  o' 
gin  and  water ;  thinks  I  to  myself,  this  here  will  never 


T*' 


do  by  no  means  whatsomnever  ;  but  then,  ye  see,  he 
says,  says  he  at  last,  just  as  if  he  was  goiiv  into  no 
danger  at  all,  says  he,  damme,  says  he,  we'll  show 
them  there  Frenchmen  how  us  Britons  can  strike  ; 
and  I  think  as  how  we  has  struck  'em,  poor  devils, 
sore  enough." 

We  pursued  our  way  without  any  farther  molest- 
ation, and  arrived  at  our  destination  in  time  to  disem- 
bark the  same  evening.  As  I  was  of  course,  in  the 
greatest  haste  to  join  the  main  army,  I  considered  my- 
self lucky  in  procuring  a  conveyance  in  the  town  at 
which  we  landed  ;  and  accompanied  by  a  single  aid-de- 
camp, I  set  off  for  the  neighbourhood  of ,  in  which 

our  army  was  at  that  time  encamped.  Night  came  down 
upon  us  almost  before  we  were  aware  ;  and  just  as  we 
entered  the  range  of  mountains  which  skirts  the  pro- 
vince of ,  we  were  enveloped  in  total  darkness. 

My  companion,  after  several  apologies  for  his  drow- 
siness, resigned  himself  quietly  to  sleep.  I  was  most 
anxious  to  follow  his  example,  but  I  was  aware  the 
country  was  in  a  very  lawless  state,  and  my  apprehen- 
sions of  the  brigands  effectually  drove  off  my  slumbers. 
At  every  lurch  in  that  execrable  road,  I  feared  it  was 
some  impediment  thrown  in  our  way,  to  enable  the 
robbers  to  execute  their  purpose ;  and  besides  ray  alarm 
was  still  more  excited,  as  I  knew  it  was  no  uncommon 
thing  for  the  postilions  themselves  to  be  in  league  with 
the  most  ferocious  of  the  banditti.  Tormented  with 
these  thoughts,  I  had  no  refreshing  sleep,  yet  the  mo- 
tion of  the  carriage,  and  the  coolness  of  the  night  air, 
joined,  to  the  fatigue  of  a  long  voyage,  threw  me  every 
now  and  then  into  a  disturbed  sort  of  slumber,  from 
which  ever  and  anon  I  started  up,  terrified  by  the  most 
appalling  dreams.  At  last  the  worst  of  my  fears  seemed 
to  stand  a  fair  chance  of  being  realized.  The  carriage 
all  at  once  stood  still,  though  it  was  now  so  dark  that 
I  could  not  see  the  cause  of  the  delay.  I  heard,  how- 
ever, the  tread  of  a  horse,  and  in  a  moment  after  the 
window  was  let  down,  and  some  hard  substance  hit  me 
a  violent  blow  on  the  temple.  Without  premeditation, 
in  the  first  natural  effort  of  my  fright,  I  laid  firm  hold 


56 

of  the  assaulting  object,  and  found  it  to  be  a  pistol  of 
enormous  size,  pointed  directly  to  my  head.  With 
the  eagerness  of  self-preservation,  I  turned  it  to  a  side, 
and  grasped  with  all  the  strength  I  could  muster,  the 
arm  of  the  assailant.  All  this  passed  in  silence.  For 
myself,  I  was  much  too  agitated  to  speak,  and  the  per- 
son who  attacked  us  maintained  an  equal  reserve.  I 
could  at  last  only  summon  breath  enough  to  say  to  the 
postilion,  "Drive  on,  or  you  may  expect  instant  death;" 
and  in  a  moment  he  put  his  horses  into  motion,  while 
I  still,  rigidly  but  unconsciously,  retained  my  hold  of 
the  arm  of  our  antagonist.  A  groan,  extorted  from  him 
by  the  agony  of  the  first  jerk,  showed  me  that  his  arm 
was  either  very  much  strained,  or  perhaps  broken,  by 
coming  in  contact  with  the  window  of  the  carriage, — 
for  I  gave  all  my  weight,  and  all  my  strength,  which 
was  at  that  time  very  remarkable,  to  retain  my  grasp. 
In  order  to  ease  his  wounded  limb  as  much  as  possible, 
he  made  his  horse  go  close  to  our  side  ;  his  groans  at 
every  tug  were  very  distressing,  and  I  doubt  not  if  I 
had  been  my  own  master  at  the  time,  my  compassion 
would  have  induced  me  to  let  him  go.  But  with  the 
instinct  of  self-protection,  I  kept  him  close  prisoner  in 
spite  of  his  manifest  sufferings.  Day  broke  while  we 
were  yet  in  these  relative  positions,  and  my  companion 
was  still  sound  asleep.  At  length  we  arrived  at  a  vil- 
lage in  the  occupation  of  our  troops,  and  the  morning 
reveille  was  just  sounded  as  we  drove  up  the  narrow 
street.  The  robber  was  still  by  our  side,  his  arm  still 
convulsively  clutched  by  me  from  within  ;  and  as  the 
carriage  drew  up  where  a  regiment  had  taken  its  station 
for  parade,  the  astonishment  of  the  soldiers  was  visibly 
depicted  on  their  countenances  at  so  unusual  a  sight. 
My  aid-de-camp  at  this  time  awakened,  and  I  think 
his  astonishment  was  one  of  the  most  amusing  exhibi- 
tions I  had  ever  seen.  In  few  words  I  related  how  it 
had  occurred,  and  he  immediately  jumped  out  and  se- 
cured the  unfortunate  and  now  completely  subdued  de- 
predator. When  it  was  ascertained  in  the  ranks  who 
I  was,  and  the  story,  with  many  embellishments,  found 


■r- 


57 

its  way  among  the  men,  their  manifestations  of  delight 
could  scarcely  be  controlled.  The  man  was  soon  re- 
cognized to  be  a  brigand  of  astonishing  reputation, — 
second  only  in  atrocity  and  fame  to  the  celebrated  Poli- 
nario.  Many  parties  had  been  sent  after  him  in  pur- 
suit, but  he  had  hitherto  eluded  their  search,  or  even 
sometimes  ventured  on  a  daring  and  successful  resist- 
ance. He  was  therefore  an  object  of  no  common  cu- 
riosity, and  the  odd  manner  of  his  capture  added  in  no 
small  degree  to  the  feeling.  His  arm,  I  found,  was 
broken ;  and  the  agony  of  the  pain  seemed  to  have  en- 
tirely mastered  his  spirit,  for  he  never  even  attempted 
to  release  himself,  and  seemed  only  happy  if  by  yield- 
ing his  arm  freely  to  the  motions  of  the  carriage,  he 
could  prevent  any  addition  to  his  pangs.  I  was  sorry 
that  dire  necessity  exacted  his  life,  but  the  gibbet  was 
a  punishment  his  cruelty  and  lawlessness  had  richly 
earned, — yet  I  was  not  altogether  pleased  with  the 
noise  my  share  in  his  capture  made,  as  I  was  aware, 
among  people  of  his  class,  it  might  incite  his  associates 
to  revenge  his  loss  upon  the  individual  who  caused  it. 
However,  it  made  me  only  the  more  strict  in  maintain- 
ing riofid  discipline;  and  in  a  few  months  after  my  ar- 
rival I  had  brought  the  forces  under  my  command  to 
a  state  of  military  organization  to  which  they  had  not 
previously  been  accustomed. 

I  need  not  engage  your  attention  with  a  detail  of  my 
proceedings  while  I  was  attached  to  the  grand  army, 
and  under  the  control  of  the  supreme  head.  My  fame 
then  only  increased  as  being  a  sharer  of  the  laurels  of 
the  whole  army ;  it  was  only  when  placed  in  an  inde- 
pendent command,  that  fortune  wove  a  chaplet  for  my 
own  peculiar  brows.  In  the  spring  of  the  year  18 — , 
whilst  our  glorious  chief  was  pursuing  his  successes 

in  the   provinces  of and ,  I  was  detached 

to  the  neighbourhood  of ,  to  watch  the  movements 

of  the  Due  de .     This,  you  are  aware,  was  one 

of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  "  sons  of  the  empire." 
He  had,  it  is  true,  been  out-manceuvred  on  one  occa- 
sion by  his  Grace,  but  you  must  know,  as  a  military 


58 

man,  that  the  excellence  of  his  dispositions,  and  the 
orderliness  of  his  retreat,  amply  redeemed  what  he  had 
lost  in  professional  reputation.  Against  him  I  was  sent 
with  a  large  though  mixed  force  ;  and  if  even  under 
the  protection  of  the  whole  British  army  I  felt  tormented 
with  almost  unceasing  terrors,  you  may  guess  what 
my  feelings  were  on  being  given  up  to  the  fury  of  the 

Due  de by  myself.     The  feelings  of  Daniel  on 

descending  into  the  lions'  den,  if  he  had  not  been  pre- 
ternaturally  endowed,  must  have  borne  a  great  resem- 
blance to  mine  on  undertaking  this  expedition.  How- 
ever, I  submitted  with  my  usual  philosophy  to  what 
was  unavoidable,  and  set  out  upon  my  march  with 
"  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war,"  though 
a  victim  all  the  time  to  the  most  fearful  forebodings, 
and  startled  at  the  shadows  of  coming  evil.  On  arriv- 
ing in  the  vicinity  of  the  enemy,  I  made  it  my  first 
business  to  strengthen  my  own  position  as  much  as 
possible.  For  this  purpose  I  formed  lines,  on  a  smaller 
scale  indeed,  but  as  similar  as  I  could  to  those  of  Tor- 
res Vedras.  Secure  in  my  entrenchments,  or,  when 
I  did  move  out,  always  cautious  to  leave  a  certainty  of 
a  retreat  into  them  once  more,  I  watched  the  enemy 
with  more  comfort,  and  a  greater  feeling  of  security, 
than  I  .had  experienced  for  many  years.  The  foe 
seemed  to  be  as  cautious  as  myself;  but  my  situation 
was  infinitely  to  be  preferred.  I  was  well  supplied 
with  every  sort  of  provision,  my  position  was  nearly 
impregnable,  and  the  whole  circumjacent  country  was 
commanded  by  the  disposition  of  my  troops.  From 
day  to  day  my  courage  waxed  higher  and  higher,  till 
at  last,  seeing  the  enemy  so  long  quiescent,  I  made 
no  doubt  that  pusillanimity  was  the  cause  of  their  re- 
pose, and  rejoiced,  with  a  joy  which  I  find  it  impossible 

to  describe,  that  the  Due  de was  as  great  a  coward 

as  myself.  Full  of  these  hopes,  1  now  on  several  oc- 
casions ventured  beyond  my  lines  to  reconnoitre.  But 
even  at  those  times  I  did  not  by  anv  means  trust  my- 
self with  few  attendants.  I  was  generally  accompanied 
by  a  large  staff,  and  had  my  movements  covered  by  se- 


59 

veral  thousands  of  the  troops.  The  enemy,  on  ray 
first  presenting  myself  in  this  manner,  made  demon- 
strations of  an  active  attack,  upon  which  I  immediately 
withdrew  to  my  entrenchments,  and  was  thankful  I 
had  for  that  time  effected  my  escape.  But  when  for 
several  days  I  had  repeated  the  same  operation,  they 
no  longer  showed  any  symptoms  of  opposition,  but 
allowed  me  in  peace  and  safety  to  go  along  the  whole 
extent  of  their  line,  and  did  not  seem  to  be  incommoded 
by  the  movements  of  so  considerable  a  force.  When 
I  had  gone  on  in  this  manner  for  nearly  three  weeks, 
(for  I  was  delighted  with  the  courage  I  had  at  last  been 
enabled  to  assume,)  things  quite  unexpectedly  took  a 
-very  different  turn.  A  regiment  of  British  cavalry,  the 
Irish  brigade,  and  a  regiment  of  Cacadores,  were  the 
party  appointed  to  cover  my  progress.  They  staid, 
of  course,  at  a  considerable  distance  from  my  staff, 
but  somewhat  closer  to  the  enemy,  in  order  to  intercept 
any  force  which  might  be  sent  against  us.  The  enemy, 
I  was  surprised  to  see,  had  changed  the  disposition  of 
his  troops.  He  had  drawn  them  closer  to  the  hill  on 
which  my  camp  was  placed,  and  formed  them  into  a 
semicircle  round  its  base.  Accordingly,  on  reaching 
the  end  of  their  line,  I  found  myself  alarmingly  near 
to  the  outposts  of  their  right  wing,  and  hastily  turned 
my  horse,  in  order  to  retire  to  my  entrenchments.  But 
skirting  the  hill  at  a  fearful  pace,  and  making  rapidly  for 
the  place  where  I  stood,  I  saw  a  large  body  of  the  ene- 
my's cavalry.  In  an  instant  I  put  spurs  to  my  horse, 
and  flew  like  the  wind.  I  waved  my  hat  for  my  es- 
cort to  come  to  my  assistance,  and  began  utterly  to  de- 
spair, as  I  saw  but  small  prospect  of  escape.  At  last 
I  joined  the  forces,  which  were  hurrying  to  my  aid, 
and  still  in  terror  and  hopelessness  urged  my  horse  to 
the  very  top  of  his  speed.  The  cavalry  dashed  after 
me  with  the  wildest  impetuosity — and  ere  I  could 
check  my  horse,  he  had  breasted  the  hill,  and  we  rush- 
ed, like  a  torrent  of  sword  and  plume,  into  the  totally 
unprepared  masses  of  the  enemy's  left  wing.  A  pro- 
digious slaughter  immediately  took  place  ;  I  shut  my 


60 

eyes  to  the  horrid  sights  I  saw  everywhere  around  me, 
and  as  I  had  no  hopes  of  ever  finding  my  way  out  of 
the  melee,  unless  supported  by  the  whole  army,  I  sent 
an  aid-de-camp  to  the  second  in  command,  and  ordered 
an  immediate  charge  of  the  whole  line.  Down  the 
gentle  declivity  of  that  hill  rushed  three-and-twenty 
thousand  men,  in  double  quick  time, — I  heard  a  tre- 
mendous volley,  followed  by  a  still  more  awful  shout, 
and  nature  reeled  before  me.  I  saw  no  more,  and  sank 
in  a  delirium  of  fear  and  horror,  quite  insensible,  upon 
the  ground.  The  victory  was  by  far  the  most  complete 
that  had  been  gained  during  the  whole  war — there  were 
8000  men  killed,  and  13,000  prisoners,  besides  an  im- 
mense quantity  of  military  stores.  But  the  conse- 
quences of  the  battle  were  still  more  important.  The 
enemy  abandoned  the  whole  province,  and  the  impreg- 
nable fortress  of immediately  surrendered.  I  re- 
joiced, on  recovering  my  senses,  to  find  I  had  been 
wounded.  I  was  shot  through  the  arm,  and  the  horse 
I  rode  was  killed  by  a  bayonet  stab. 

The  whole  glory  of  the  victory  was  attributed  to 
me.  The  plan  of  inducing  the  enemy  to  strengthen 
his  right  wing,  and  then  leading  the  attack  so  instanta- 
neously upon  his  weakened  left,  was  considered  one 
of  the  most  illustrious  incidents  in  the  art  of  war  ;  and 
I  have  blushed  over  and  over  again  to  hear  it  compared 
in  intricacy  of  plot,  and  brilliancy  of  execution,  to  the 
Duke  of  Marlborough's  celebrated  passage  of  the  cause- 
way of  Arleux,  in  which  he  outwitted  the  great  Mar- 
shal Villars.  The  honours  that  were  heaped  upon  me 
were  quite  overpowering.  I  received  the  thanks  of 
both  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  was  presented  with 
the  freedom  of  the  city  of  London  in  a  gold  box.  The 
gratitude  of  the  Spanish  nation  knew  no  bounds.  I 
was  the  theme  of  many  of  their  songs ;  I  was  called  in 
some  of  their  ballads  only  inferior  to  the  Cid  ;  and  in 
honour  of  me,  by  a  delicate  compliment  of  that  highly 
chivalrous  nation,  a  Pumpkin  became  a  favourite  dish 
at  the  tables  of  the  highest  of  their  nobility.  In  the 
mean  time  my  wound  gave  me  no  small  inconvenience  ; 


61 

some  of  the  minor  nerves  were  lacerated,  aud  afflicted 
me  with  intolerable  pain.  This,  joined  to  the  conti- 
nuance of  my  fears,  (for  every  new  success  seemed 
only  to  make  me  more  timorous  and  apprehensive,) 
preyed  seriously  upon  my  health.  His  Grace  wrote 
me  a  letter  with  his  own  hand,  thanking  me  for  the  as- 
sistance I  had  rendered  him,  and  complimenting  me 
on  the  ability  I  had  displayed.  This  I  perhaps  prized 
more  than  any  of  the  other  honours  ;  but  alas  !  what 
right  can  I  advance  to  all  these  praises  ?  Many  a 
more  courageous  man  than  I  am,  I  was  well  convinced, 
had  been  shot  for  the  basest  cowardice, — and  yet ! — 
I  have  really  suffered  more  from  the  goadings  of  my 
conscience,  and  the  reproaches  of  my  own  heart  at  my 
paltriness  in  remaining  silent  under  so  much  unmerited 
eulogium,  than  I  should  have  undergone  had  I  boldly 
stated  the  truth,  and  consigned  myself  to  infamy  and 
security  at  once.  Even  now,  however,  it  is  not  too 
late,  and  I  find  my  heart  relieved  of  an  intolerable  bur- 
den even  by  the  confession  I  have  now  made  to  you. 
But  to  proceed.  The  state  of  my  health  necessi- 
tated my  return  to  England.  I  gave  up  my  command, 
I  may  safely  say,  with  far  more  pleasure  than  I  had 
assumed  it,  and  set  out  with  great  satisfaction  on  my 
homeward  way.  It  was  now  the  beginning  of  winter. 
The  wind  blew  most  tempestuously  when  I  arrived 
upon  the  coast.  This  circumstance,  added  to  the 
weakening  effects  of  my  wound,  reduced  me  to  a 
lower  point  of  pusillanimity  than  I  ever  remember  to 
have  reached.  In  fact,  I  was  totally  unmanned,  and 
thought  my  only  plan  to  avoid  observation  in  going 
from  the  little  boat  on  board  the  transport,  was  to  affect 
an  utter  insensibility,  from  the  painfulness  of  my  arm. 
I  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  totally  absorbed  in  the 
contemplation  of  my  danger,  and,  luckily  without 
any  very  manifest  display  of  my  cowardice,  I  got 
hoisted  up  on  the  deck  of  the  transport ;  and  although 
even  she  was  tossed  with  fearful  violence,  I  considered 
myselt  to  be  now  in  a  place  of  comparative  safety.  I 
found  myself  unable  to  stand  the  atmosphere  below  ; 
6 


62 

so  with  cloaks  and  other  appliances,  I  made  a  sort  of 
couch  upon  the  deck,  and  lay  down  upon  it,  overcome 
partly  by  my  state  of  health,  and  partly  by  my  fears. 
Opposite  to  me  was  laid  another  sufferer,  though  I  was 
at  first  so  occupied  with  my  own  wants,  that  I  had  no 
great  time  or  inclination  to  scrutinize  his  features  at- 
tentively ;  but  even  in  the  cursory  glance  I  gave  him, 
there  was  something  in  his  appearance  which  reminded 
me  of  some  one  I  had  seen  before.  But  he  seemed  so 
wasted  by  disease,  that  even  if  I  had  been  intimately 
acquainted,  I  knew  I  should  have  found  it  difficult  to 
recognize  him.  For  the  first  two  days  I  thought  he 
was  quite  deserted,  but  on  the  morning  of  the  third,  a 
beautiful  little  boy,  about  six  or  seven  years  of  age, 
came  up  from  below,  where  he  had  been  detained  by 
sickness,  and  watched  his  couch  with  the  most  tender 
affection.  The  weather  had  now  in  some  degree  mo- 
derated, though  the  swell,  to  one  unaccustomed  to  the 
sea,  was  still  very  unpleasant.  I  got  up  and  moved 
about  a  little,  and  entered  into  conversation  with  the 
little  boy  who  had  attracted  my  observation.  His  fa- 
ther I  did  not  disturb,  as  he  looked  so  languid  I  was 
afraid  he  might  be  harassed  and  incommoded  if  I  ad- 
dressed him.  I  sat  on  the  taffril  and  spoke  to  the  little 
boy,  who  with  all  the  wildness  and  fearlessness  of 
youth,  rejoiced  in  rambling  and  climbing  all  over  the 
ship.  My  rank  made  no  impression  on  him.  He  sat 
upon  my  knee,  and  admired  my  dress  with  the  most 
confiding  innocence  ;  and  I  was  delighted  to  encourage 
his  familiarity.  One  morning,  as  I  leant  over  the  side 
in  a  violent  qualm  of  sea-sickness,  the  little  boy  was 
amusing  himself  by  climbing  up  one  of  the  ropes 
which  hung  directly  above  where  I  stood.  I  cautioned 
him  two  or  three  times  of  the  danger  of  his  sport,  but 
he  still  persisted  in  going,  by  his  hands  alone,  as  high 
up  the  rope  as  he  could.  I  heard  a  slight  scream,  and 
the  next  moment  was  overwhelmed  with  a  great  weight, 
and  was  instantly  overbalanced  and  driven  into  the  sea. 
I  have  no  recollection  of  anything  more,  except  a 
strange  thundering  sound  in  my  ears,  and  the  flashing 


IMP"" 


63 

of  red  lights  in  my  eyes.  A  boat  was  instantaneously 
put  down,  and  I  was  picked  up  quite  insensible  ;  the 
boy  also  who  had  caused  the  catastrophe  by  losing  his 
hold  and  falling  on  my  head,  was  saved  from  his  peri- 
lous situation,  and  we  were  conveyed  on  board  after 
our  safety  had  been  despaired  of.  When  I  came  per- 
fectly to  myself,  I  found  the  invalid  had  been  carried 
across  the  ship  to  the  side  of  my  couch,  and  there  he 
lay  with  the  intent  eyes  of  earnest  affection  watching 
for  my  recovery.  His  boy  was  lying  sound  asleep  in 
his  arms.  He  said,  when  I  opened  my  eyes — "  This 
is  the  second  time,  General,  I  have  been  indebted  to 
you  more  than  I  shall  be  ever  able  to  repay — first, — 
for  I  see  you  do  not  in  these  wasted  features  recognize 
a  friend  of  your  youth, — when  you  saved  me  in  the 
bathing-ground  at ,  when  you  were  a  simple  en- 
sign, and  I,  what  I  am  now — a  poor  lieutenant." 

"Jack  Wharton  !"'  I  said,  in  astonishment. 

"  The  same — No  one  has  rejoiced  more  in  your 
rapid  and  brilliant  progress  than  I  have,  though  my 
own,  I  grieve  to  say,  has  been  very  different.  But  now 
this  second  time  you  have  saved  my  boy,  my  poor 
little  Frederick,  and  Jack  Wharton  can  only  thank  you 
with  his  tears." 

And  poor  Wharton  wept  like  a  child.  I  said  nothing 
to  all  this,  for  I  knew  even  if  I  told  him  the  truth,  that 
my  precipitation  into  the  water  was  by  no  means  vo- 
luntary, he  would  not  have  given  credit  to  the  state- 
ment ;  so  I  was  forced  passively  to  submit  to  the  ad- 
miration of  the  whole  crew  for  the  heroism  of  the 
achievement,  when  the  fact  was  that  the  child  himself 
had  knocked  me  over  the  side,  and  nearly  been  the 
cause  of  mv  death.  My  friend's  had  been  the  usual 
fate  of  military  men — he  had  stood  all  the  dangers  of 
several  campaigns,  and  had  risen  no  higher  than  lieu- 
tenant; I  am  happy,  however,  to  say  I  had  it  in  my 
power  to  be  of  essential  service  to  him  afterwards,  and 
to-morrow,  I  believe,  L shall  have  the  honour  of  intro- 
ducing you  to  Colonel  Wharton.  I  may  conclude  the 
story  of  my  professional  progress  by  informing  you 


64 

that  in  a  short  period  after  my  arrival,  I  was  advanced 
to  the  highest  step  in  the  army  save  one,  and  that  my 
sovereign  was  graciously  pleased  to  confer  on  me  the 
honour  of  a  baronetcy,  and  the  knighthood  of  the  Bath, 
and  that  Parliament  voted  me  money  to  purchase  an 
estate,  and  settled  two  thousand  a-year  on  my  lineal 
representative  for  three  generations. 

This,  sir,  from  the  story  you  have  heard,  will  afford 
you  ground  for  moralizing.  Here  am  I,  a  man  of  no 
strength  of  mind,  a  man  of  no  personal  courage,  cele- 
brated from  one  end  of  the  kingdom  to  the  other,  for 
the  possession,  in  a  peculiar  degree,  of  both  these  qua- 
lities. I  have  risen  to  the  summit  of  a  soldier's  ambition, 
and  to  the  eye  of  philosophy  I  present  as  interesting 
a  subject  of  contemplation  as  would  be  the  elevation 
to  the  seals  of  a  lawyer  ignorant  beyond  measure  of 
the  law,  or  the  translation  to  such  a  see  as  Winchester, 
of  a  clergyman  unendowed  with  either  learning,  or 
piety,  or  talents.  That  such  an  event  never  occurred 
in  any  profession  but  my  own,  I  would  fain  hope;  but 
I  trust  that,  while  I  thus  unburden  myself  of  a  secret 
which  has  preyed  on  my  conscience  for  many  years, 
you  will  allow  that,  poor  and  contemptible  as  my  con- 
duct has  in  reality  been,  I  have  never  added  to  my 
baseness  by  arrogance  and  pride.  You  now,  I  feel 
convinced,  look  on  me  with  loathing  and  abhorrence ; 
but,  believe  me,  that  whatever  your  feelings  may  be, 
mine  are  a  thousand  times  more  humiliating,  a  thou- 
sand times  more  bitter ! 

Here  the  General  paused,  and  laid  his  head  upon 
his  hand — for  my  own  part  I  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
I  did  not  at  first  believe  a  single  word  of  what  he  said 
about  his  want  of  courage  ;  but  as  he  proceeded  in  his 
story,  I  began  to  think  he  could  scarcely  mean  all  that 
long  rigmarole  for  a  hoax,  and  accordingly  I  felt  it  im- 
possible to  offer  him  the  slightest  consolation.  Whilst 
I  was  hesitating  what  to  say,  for  the  unfortunate  Ge- 
neral was  now  sobbing  convulsively  in  the  bitterness 
of  his  self-upbraiding,  we  were  startled  with  the  most 
horrific  shrieks  I  ever  heard,  and  above  the  clamour 


,  ii-  L   *fmm>~~* 


65 

which  immediately  arose,  we  heard  the  cries  of ;i  Fire  ! 
fire!"  and  then  the  wildest  ejaculations  of  li  Help  ! 
help  !  save  us  !  save  us  !"  I  darted  with  the  speed  of 
lightning  to  the  door,  but  the  whole  passage  was  rilled 
with  smoke  ;  I,  however,  as  the  only  chance  of  escape, 
(after  telling  the  General,  who  sat  still,  lost  apparently 
in  grief,  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost.)  sprang  down  the 
alreadv  blazing  staircase,  and  providentially  arrived 
safe.  '  The  heat  and  agitation,  however,  had  been  too 
much  for  me,  and  I  sank  in  a  swoon  upon  the  grass 
the  moment  I  reached  the  lawn.  When  I  recovered 
my  senses,  the  fire  had  made  the  most  alarming  pro- 
gress. It  burst  in  vivid  wreaths  out  of  almost  all  the 
windows,  and  the  smoke,  thickly  eddying  round  the 
whole  building,  hid  all  the  portions  of  it  which  were 
not  actually  in  a  blaze.  The  servants,  and  many  coun- 
try people  from  the  neighbouring  village,  gazeu  at  the 
progress  of  the  devouring  element  in  helpless  conster- 
nation and  dismay.  Many  of  them  were  in  tears,  and 
I  heard  them  uttering  the  most  heart-rending  lamenta- 
tions over  the  inevitable  fate  of  their  mistress.  She 
had  retired  to  her  couch  at  an  early  hour,  and  the  flames 
now  totally  enveloped  the  suite  of  apartments  which 
she  had  occupied.  I  made  several  attempts  to  dash 
through  the  flames,  and  save  the  unfortunate  lady — and 
also  had  no  doubt  the  General  would  be  overcome  by 
his  terrors,  and  be  incapacitated  from  escape.  In  the 
midst  of  these  vain  and  impotent  endeavours,  we  saw 
some  dark  object  moving  along  the  corridor.  It  pro- 
ceeded quietly  and  sedately,  whatever  it  was  ;  and  the 
superstitious  peasantry  began  to  give  all  up  for  lost, 
when  they  saw  what  they  considered  the  demon  o. 
fire  himself  so  deliberately  taking  his  path  amidst  the 
flames.  I,  however,  caught  a  single  glimpse,  which 
satisfied  me  it  was  the  General ;  and  I  now  in  truth 
believed  that  his  fears  had  turned  his  brain,  and  that 
he  threw  himself  in  his  delirium  upon  certain  death. 
We  traced  him,  however,  as  he  passed  each  window, 
and  at  last  saw  him  dive  suddenly  into  the  hottest  of 
the  fire,  and,  to  our  amazement,  emerge  in  the  ante- 
6* 


66 

room  of  her  ladyship's  bed-chamber.  We  could  even, 
above  the  roaring  of  the  flames,  hear  a  scream  of  de- 
light; and  in  another  instant,  again  we  traced  the  figure 
pursuing  its  fiery  way  with  a  burden  in  its  arms,  and 
a  shout  of  hope  and  exultation  among  the  spectators 
could  no  longer  be  restrained.  The  walls  themselves 
began  to  crack  and  totter  in  many  places,  and  several 
of  the  floors  had  already  given  way,  yet,  apparently 
undisraayed,  the  figure  flitted  across  each  successive 
window  of  the  corridor,  and  by  some  means  or  other 
came  down  the  blazing  staircase  uninjured.  I  saw, 
to  my  delight  and  amazement,  it  was  indeed  the  Gene- 
ral, with  the  still  beautiful  and  fascinating  Lady  Anna- 
bella  closely  clinging  to  his  neck.  I  rushed  to  him  in 
a  moment,  and  offered  him  my  assistance,  but  he  was 
apparently  as  calm  and  collected  as  he  had  appeared 
that  very  day  at  the  head  of  his  own  table.  Her  lady- 
ship, too,  recovered  herself  very  soon,  and  related  her 
escape,  with  the  fondest  acknowledgments  of  her  hus- 
band's matchless  intrepidity.  To  ail  that  she  said  he 
made  no  answer  whatsoever ;  he  seemed,  indeed, 
scarcely  to  listen  to  what  she  was  saying;  but  after 
she  had  been  given  over  to  the  care  of  her  maids,  he 
took  me  aside,  and  told  me,  that  in  a  state  of  the  great- 
est agitation  he  walked  along  the  corridor,  in  hopes 
of  finding  his  way  down  the  back  stairs  which  com- 
municated with  the  garden.  He  found  the  door  locked, 
and  entered  Lady  Annabella's  room,  with  the  intention 
of  leaping  out  of  her  window  ;  but  she  sprang  upon 
him,  and  seized  him  round  the  neck — and  then  his  ap- 
prehension rose  to  such  a  pitch  that  he  lost  all  com- 
mand of  himself,  and  how  he  found  his  way  into  the 
open  air  he  was  altogether  unable  to  guess.  After 
giving  me  this  account,  he  slipt  quietly  away  from  the 
bustle,  and  left  me  musing  on  what  a  confoundedly 
useful  sort  of  cowardice  it  was,  which  enabled  the 
man  always  to  be  terrified  at  the  right  time ;  and  the 
sum  of  my  musing  was  this,  that  it  wrill  be  a  rrretty 
considerable  particular  long  time  before  all  my  courage, 
and  dashing,  and  intrepidity,  will  raise  me  to  be  a  Ge- 


■«  ■** 


■MM 


67 

neral  of  Division,  with  a  splendid  fortune — a  baro- 
netcy— and  two  thousand  a-year  settled  on  my  lineal 
representative  for  three  generations.  So  much  better 
is  it,  as  Solomon  or  some  other  person  has  said  in  his 
proverbs,  to  be  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  one's  mouth 
than  a  wooden  ladle. 


68 


ADVENTURES  OF  CRISPIN  CRISP. 

"  The  drowsy  world  is  dreaming-,  love." — Moobe. 


Crispin  Crisp  was  the  youngest  son  of  a  youngest 
son's  youngest  son  ;  we  may  therefore  augur,  without 
augury,  that  he  rolled  not  in  riches.    Crispin  Crisp, 

nevertheless,  abounded  in good-nature  ;  the  kindly 

god  of  that  attractive  quality  had  smiled  at  his  birth 
and  breathed  it  in  his  heart.  Whim  shaped  his  fea- 
tures, and  bestowed  upon  him  a  little  obstinacy.  Mirth 
strung  every  chord  and  fibre  that  sensibility  had  left 
untouched  ;  whilst  Care,  "  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  hap- 
py," beset  his  path  as  he  grew  up — but  without  effect. 

"  I  won't  be  a  lawyer,"  said  Crispin  Crisp  to  his 
father,  when  offered  the  choice  of  a  profession,  "  be- 
cause I  hate  litigation  ;  and  he  reminds  me  of  a  carrion 
crow  gloating  over  the  carcass  of  a  cat,  his  prey  hav- 
ing already  been  worried  to  death  by  the  canine  tooth 
of  poverty.  I  won't  be  a  tradesman,  because  profes- 
sionals will  look  down  upon  me;  and  I  won't  be  a 
chimney  sweep,  because  he  is  neither  trade  nor  pro- 
fession ;  but  I'll  put  my  forty  pounds  per  annum  four 
percent,  consol.  annuities,  into  my  pocket,  and  trudge 
away  my  life  in  the  character  of  a  walking  gentleman." 

Crispin  Crisp  kept  his  word.  (He  was  a  man  of 
his  word — and,  what  is  more,  a  man  of  few  words — 
always  avoiding  a  paragraph  when  he  deemed  a  sen- 
tence sufficient,  and  dispensing  with  a  sentence  when 
a  single  word  might  answer  his  purpose.)  He  there- 
fore footed  it  away  over  many  a  foot  of  ground,  until 


— ■** 


69 

the  sum  total  was  some  thousand  and  odd  miles.  What 
a  large  amount  may  be  formed  from  little  items !"  said 
Crispin  Crisp,  as  "he  reflected  on  this  circumstance 
one  evening  while  enjoying  his  pipe  in  a  road-side  ale- 
house on  the  coast  of  Devonshire,  and  known  by  the 
sign  of  the  Cat  and  Kittens.  Just  then  two  strangers 
entered  the  place  and  seated  themselves  on  a  low  settle 
near  the  fire. 

"  A  brace  of  guineas  from  each  will  make  up  a  cool 
hundred,"  said  one. 

"  Yes,  if  they  will  but  be  tippy  with  the  tip,"  re- 
plied his  companion. 

"They  are  collectors  of  charity  subscriptions," 
thought  Crisp,  taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"Aye,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "but  itsha'n't  be  for 
want  of  knowing  how.  Let  them  whistle  the  sym- 
phony, and  we'll  show  them  how-  to  make  canaries 
fly." 

"  And  let  them  into  the  secrets  of  pigeon  training, 
into  the  bargain,"  returned  the  other. 

"  They  are  bird  fanciers,  I  fancy,"  said  Crispin  to 
himself. 

"-What,  if  we  get  K to  join  us,"  said   the 

speaker,  No.  one. 

"Pooh!"  said  No.  two;  "he'll  be  useless — he's 
not  worth  a  tanner" 

"  '  A  tanner  will  last  some  nine  years,'  according 
to  Hamlet,"  muttered  Crisp,  practically  refuting  the 
position,  by  throwing  his  last  sixpence  to  "  mine  host," 
in  payment  for  his  gin  and  water. 

"  Yes,"  said  No.  one,  "  but  remember  his  title  ; 
that  would  carry  us  through  many  scrapes  :  however, 
if  you  object,  we  can  honour  all  absent  friends  with 
peerages  instead.     Jem  Banks  shall  be  Chancellor  of 

the  Exchequer ;  C d  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury. 

and but  see  how  that  quiz  in  the  corner  is  eyeing 

us.     Do  you  know  us,  sir?"  he  added,  turning  quick 
upon  our  hero. 

"  Excellently  well ;  you're  fishmongers,"  said  Cris- 
pin Crisp,  drily. 


70 

"  Eh  ! — how  know  you  that  ?  C d  surely " 

"  Xay,  nay,  don't  disturb  yourself;  I  merely  guessed 
so  by  your  appearing  to  be  such  extensive  dealers  in 
place,"  said  Crispin. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  a  well-timed  joke,  sir,"  said  No.  two  ; 
"  I  see  you  are  a  bit  of  a  wag,  and  shall  be  proud  of 
your  company  over  a  bottle.  The  more  the  merrier, 
at  a  feast,  they  say." 

"  Inclination  says,  Yes — prudence,  No,"  replied 
Crisp.  »*  I  have  no  cash,  and  shall  not  receive  my 
half-yearly  dividend  until  four  days  hence." 

The  strangers,  upon  this,  declared  that  they  should 
feel  hugeously  offended  if  such  an  objection  was  again 
urged ;  and  Crisp,  overcome  by  such  generosity,  hinted 
to  himself  that  they  were  princes  incog.,  and,  without 
further  ado.  consented  to  crack  a  bottle  and  joke  in 
their  society.  Crispin  Crisp  had  in  truth  a  kindly  heart, 
though  moulded  in  a  somewhat  comical  form,  and  he 
ever  appreciated  kindness  in  others.  Good  soul  !  he 
never  suspected  an  evil  motive  to  lurk  beneath  good- 
natured  actions,  and  was  therefore  always  open  to  de- 
ception ;  but,  so  unostentatiously  amiable",  so  humorous, 
so  quiet,  and  so  amusingly  eccentric  was  he  withal, 
that  few  took  advantage  of  him.  'Twould  have  been 
like  strangling  the  Robin  red-breast,  which  unsuspect- 
ingly flies  to  your  window  on  a  winter's  day. 

With  a  glass  of  claret  before  him,  Crisp  felt  like  the 
Indian  chief  when  pronouncing  wine  to  be  the  juice  of 
women's  tongues  and  lions'  hearts.  He  chatted,  he 
laughed,  lie  sang,  and  finally  related  all  he  knew  of 
himself — which,  however,  was  not  much  ;  for  he  sel- 
dom troubled  himself  to  notice  the  habits  of  strangers, 
and  Crispin  Crisp  was  less  intimately  acquainted  with 
Crispin  Crisp  than  with  any  man  breathing  ;  and  after 
dwelling  at  some  length  upon  the  nobility  of  his  fa- 
mily, and  Ins  ancient  pedigree,  he  in  the  fulness  of  his 
heart  threw  the  contents  of  his  card-case  to  his  new 
friends,  with  an  invitation  to  partake  of  his  father's 
hospitality  at  Crisp  Hall,  and  inspect  the  antiquated 
deeds,  &c.  from  whence  he  had  gleamed  his  heraldic 


71 

lore.  The  strangers  laughed,  but  promised  to  comply ; 
and,  after  drawing  one  more  cork,  they  wished  each 
other  bon  repos,  and  separated  for  the  night. 

Next  day  a  third  stranger  made  his  appearance,  and 
was  greeted  with  significant  looks  by  the  two  former 
ones.  "  Well,  Harry,  you  see  I  am  punctual,"  he 
said,  "  and  now  tell  me " 

"  Hush  '."  interrupted  the  person  addressed,  point- 
ing to  Crispin,  who  sat  enshrouded  in  the  sombre 
twilight  of  the  chimney-corner.  "  Let  us  withdraw 
awhile  and  talk  in  private."  They  withdrew  accord- 
ingly, and  after  a  confab  of  two  hours,  the  new-comer 
made  himself  scarce,  and  "  Harry,"  with  his  compa- 
nion— whom  he  familiarly  called  "  Tom" — invited 
Crisp  to  a  stroll  about  the  country. 

"  Have  with  ye,"  said  Crispin,  readily;  "it's  the 
finest  amusement  under  heaven." 

Away,  thereupon,  they  went,  over  hill  and  dale, 
through  glen  and  glade,  ditch,  swamp,  wood,  and  wild. 
Crispin  Crisp  seemed  monarch  of  all,  and  walked  on 
with  a  sturdy  independence,  which  might  have  entitled 
him  to  hold"  a  distinguished  place  among  the  hardy  in- 
habitants of  a  more  rugged  soil,  whilst  his  companions 
were  fairly  beaten,  and  came  panting  and  blowing  like 
broken-winded  horses  after  a  hard  day's  exercise. 

M  A  prettv  dance  you've  led  us,"  cried  Tom,  as  he 
sat  down  exhausted  to  dinner. 

"Pooh!  'twas  but  a  country  dance,"  said  Crisp, 
performing  an  oblisato  accompaniment  to  his  words 
with  knife' and  fork  upon  a  roast  duck.  Dinner  ended, 
thev  smoked,  sang,  drank  and  chatted  as  on  the  preceding 
evening,  and  finally  retired  to  rest.  Thus  passed  time 
away  for  three  days ;  Tom  and  Harry  insisting  upon 
paying  everv  expense.  Crispin  Crisp  was  charmed 
with  so  much  goodness  :  in  his  simplicity  he  treated 
his  entertainers  with  the  confidence  of  a  brother,  and 
in  a  short  time  not  a  family  secret  remained  untold  :  at 
length  a  letter  was  brought  him  from  London,  contain- 
ing a  bank  note  for  twenty  pounds,  (the  half  yearly 
moiety  of  his  annuity,)  "And  now,  my  kind  friends," 


72 

he  said,  "  you  shall  revel  at  my  expense  ;  and  if  the 
affair  a'n't  done  to  a  merry  tune,  say  that  I  don't  know 
how  to  pay  the  piper." 

To  this  offer  the  strangers  would  by  no  means  agree. 
It  was  not  agreeable,  they  said,  to  hear  of  anything  like 
a  repayment  of  their  civilities,  especially  as  it  would 
tend  to  straiten  his  circumstances. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Crisp,  "  I  tell  you  I  have  now 
cash  enough  to  roll  in  ;  the  expense  of  a  dinner  and  et 
ceteras  will  be  a  mere  flea-bite,  and  I'm  determined  to 
have  my  own  way." 

"  And  we,  ours,"  said  Harry,  with  a  shrug. 

Crispin  Crisp  was  firm;  his  friends  obstinate,  till  at 
last  the  affair  was  compromised  by  an  agreement  to 
play  cards  after  dinner,  and  he  who  lost  most  money 
to  disburse  the  charges  of  it.  Said,  and  agreed  to ; 
down  they  sat — shuffled,  cut,  dealed,  played,  and 
Crispin  Crisp  rose  a  loser  of  his  twenty  pounds. 

"  After  all,  then,  you  have  to  pay  for  the  entertain- 
ment," said  Harry. 

"  You  can't  have  more  of  a  cat  than  his  skin,"  said 
Crisp,  "you've  won  my  all,  and  I've  scarcely  the 
means  of  paying  for  another  night's  lodging." 

"  Then  you  are  no  gentlemen  !"  returned  Harry  in 
a  lofty  tone.  Our  unsuspicious  hero  was  at  his  wit's 
end  to  remove  this  imputation,  when  Tom  kindly  pro- 
posed accepting  a  bill  at  sight  upon  his  father.  Vexed, 
heated,  and  bewildered,  Crisp  acceded,  upon  which 
another  bumper  was  offered  him,  and  a  proposal  made 
to  pursue  the  game  to  afford  him  an  opportunity  of  re- 
gaining what  he  had  lost.  In  the  excitement  of  the 
moment,  Crispin  caught  the  bait;  again  he  played, 
again  drank,  again  lost,  and  again  drew  bills  upon  his 
father,  until  his  head  fairly  reeled  under  the  confluence 
of  events,  and,  half  insensible  with  mortification  and 
intoxication,  he  hastened  to  bed — performing  on  the 
way  as  many  gyrations  as  an  Italian  mountebank  at  a 
festival. 

Thus  it  is  ever  with  man  ;  and  thus,  notwithstanding 
his  vaunted  superiority,  is  he  frequently  degraded  to  a 


•— 


73 

condition  beneath  that  of  the  vilest  of  brutes.     The 
lion  in  his  quest  for  prey  will  not  glance  at  carrion  ; 
the  dove  suffers  no  temptation  to  lure  him  from  the 
turtle's  side,  and  the  eagle  in  his  sunward  flight  would 
scorn  to  permit  a  world  of  brilliance  to  withdraw  his 
eye  from  the  golden  orb  ;  while  man — mighty,  intel- 
lectual, reptile  man — diverges  from  his  settled  objects 
at  every  petty  inducement,  and  forfeits  all  the  dominion 
which  reason  gives  him  at  the  shrine  of  self-gratifica- 
tion.    In  this  manner  our  hero  erred  :  the  plan  of  life 
he  had  for  the  last  five  years  pursued  was  that  of  wan- 
dering in  search  of  the  unfortunate — binding  up  the 
wounds  of  those  in  sorrow — relieving  distress  wher- 
ever his  slender  means  permitted  such  an  exercise  of 
charity,  and  administering  the  cordial  of  consolation  to 
all.     From  the  future  performance  of  this  benevolent 
part  he  was  now  precluded  by  a  bottle  of  wine,  fifty- 
two  disfigured  slips  of  pasteboard,  and  a  few  lively  sal- 
lies from  designing  strangers.  O  Crispin  Crisp  !  Cris- 
pin Crisp  !  you  shall  dearly  pay  for  this  !    But  a  truce 
to  digression  :  be  it  ours  to  avoid  the  fault  we  have  just 
been  reprobating,  and  to  pursue  our  narrative  without 
allowing  a  single  freak  of  fancy,  or  other  (to  us    attrac- 
tive circumstance  to  wean  us  from  it. 

When  Crisp  awoke,  the  entire  exigency  of  his  cir- 
cumstances flashed  upon  him  with  the  first  ray  of  light. 
That  which  was  to  have  supported  him  for  the  next 
half  year  was  already  gone  ;  his  father  would  be  too 
much  exasperated  at  having  to  pay  his  bills  to  receive 
him  at  home,  and  nothing  but  manual  labour  or  beggary 
could  preserve  him  from  starvation.  "I've  done  a 
pretty  job  for  myself,"  said  he,  poking  his  legs  out  of 
bed,  and  thrusting  aside  his  nightcap.  He  was  soon 
dressed,  and,  with  aching  head  and  throbbing  heart, 
descended  to  the  parlour.  His  friends  had  gotten  out 
of  the  way;  '-Shift  for  yourself,  and  we^fl  take  care 
of  your  shirt,"  thought  Crispin  Crisp. 

At  this  moment  a  poor  woman  with  a  child  on  her 
back  and  one  in  each  arm  entered  the  room  and  soli- 
cited charity  ;  Crisp's  honest  heart  melted  :  he  had  but 
7 


74 

one  shilling  left,  and  that  he  was  about  to  expend  for 
a  breakfast,  yet  he  could  not  hear  this  woman's  tale 
of  distress  without  desiring  to  relieve  her,  and  thinking 
that  if  he  must  starve,  he  might  as  well  do  so  to-day 
as  to-morrow,  he  gave  her  the  solitary  coin,  saying, 
that  he  was  her  debtor,  for,  had  he  not  squandered  his 
money,  he  should  have  given  her  five  times  as  much. 

"  Good  luck  to  your  honour !"  said  the  woman, 
"  whether  you've  been  frugal  or  free,  this  is  more  than 
many  grand  gentlefolks  would  give." 

"  I  don't  deserve  your  good  wishes.  I  have  fool- 
ishly spent  four  hundred  times  the  amount  of  that 
shilling,  and  ought  to  be  punished  for  it,"  said  Crisp. 

"  Then  may  this  be  a  peace-offering  to  your  con- 
science, honey  ;  may  the  sum  you've  given  to  feed  the 
hungry  when  you  wanted  a  male  yourself  be  returned 
a  thousand-fold — and  once  more  good  luck  to  your 
honour  !"  said  the  grateful  woman,  as  she  hastened  to 
buy  her  children  some  bread.  She  had  scarcely  de- 
parted when  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  was  heard  at 
the  door,  and,  in  another  minute,  a  tall  personage, 
dressed  a  la  militairt,  introduced  himself  into  the 
parlour. 

"  Length  and  strength,"  thought  our  hero,  eyeing 
him. 

The  officer  summoned  the  landlord,  and  inquired  if 
a  gentleman  named  Crispin  Crisp  was  in  the  house. 

"  That  he  is,  I'll  swear,"  said  Crisp,  advancing 
briskly,  when  he  immediately  recognized  in  the  stran- 
ger a  relation  (some  fortieth  cousin,  or  so)  who  had 
sojourned  for  a  time  at  Crisp  Hall,  previous  to  starting 
on  his  pedestrian  scheme.  After  a  warm  greeting  on 
both  sides,  the  officer,  who  was  named  Randolph,  pro- 
ceeded to  inform  Crisp  that  he  had  some  welcome  news 
to  impart. 

44  Yes,  from  home,  I'll  warrant,"  said  Crispin,  with 
an  anticipatory  shrug. 

44  No,  from  London,"  was  the  reply. 

44  'Ware  hawks  '.  The  ill  news  cannot  have  reached 
there  yet." 


75 

"  III  news  !  Why,  do  you  know  what  I  was  going 
to  say  ?" 

11  No — do  you  ?"  asked  Crisp. 

"  To  be  sure  I  do,"  said  Randolph  ;  "  I  was  about 
to  tell  you  that  Lord  K has  succeeded." 

"  The  devil  he  has  !  And  what's  that  to  me  ?"  ex- 
claimed Crispin  Crisp,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his 
breeches  pockets. 

'•  Nothing  more  than  that  you  are  now  authorized 
to  kill,  slay,  and  take  prisoner  as  many  of  his  Majesty's 
enemies  as  may  suit  your  convenience,"  returned 
Randolph. 

"  In  the  name  of  that  chief  of  all  misses,  mis-chief, 
what  are  you  driving  at?"  shouted  Crispin. 

"  Why,  man,  how  obtuse  you  are,"  said  Randolph  : 

"I  mean  that  K has  procured  your  commission. 

That  you  are  now  Ensign  Crisp  of  his  Majesty's th 

regiment.  That  Boney  has  sent  Ney,  Soult,  and 
others  into  Spain  ;  and  that  we,  under  Lord  Welling- 
ton, must  proceed  forthwith  to  drive  them  out  again  !" 

"  O  ! And  how  long  have  you  been  accustomed 

to  humming?"  said  Crisp,  with  a  roguish  leer. 

"  Drumming,  you  mean,  my  dear  fellow,"  rejoined 
Randolph.  "  Why  I  have  now  been  a  Captain,  in  the 
regiment  in  which  you  are  to  serve,  nearly  two  years. 
It  was  owing  to  that  circumstance  that  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  K 's  friendly  application  on  your 

behalf,  and  on  learning  his  success  I  procured  leave  of 
absence,  in  order  to  communicate  the  welcome  tidings 

myself.     K gave  me  your  card,  else  (thanks  to 

your  rambling  propensities)  I  should  never  have  known 
where  to  find  you." 

All  this  time  Crispin  Crisp  had  worn  a  look  of  du- 
bious astonishment  difficult  to  describe,  and  long  after 
Randolph  had  ceased  speaking,  he  maintained  a  pro- 
found silence  :  at  length  he  started  from  his  seat,  and, 
slapping  his  forehead,  exclaimed'with  elation,  "I've 
hit  it !  I'm  asleep,  and  this  is  all  a  tantalizing  dream. 
How  confoundedly  disappointed  I  shall  be  on  waking." 
This  idea  never  quitted  our  hero.  He  breakfasted, 
went  to  London,  and  embarked  with  his  regiment ; — 


76 

still  he  fancied  himself  asleep.  He  reached  Spain, 
joined  the  allied  forces,  and  bore  the  British  standard 
in  front; — still  he  imagined  himself  to  be  asleep.  He 
suffered  privations  and  fatigue ;  underwent,  with  cheer- 
fulness, long  and  harassing  forced  marches  ;  fought, 
conquered,  bled,  retreated,  (as  the  reverses  of  war 
were  alternately  favourable  or  unfortunate,)  danced, 
laughed,  and  made  merry  ; — still  Crispin  Crisp  consi- 
dered all  to  be  a  dream.  He  had  read  of  persons 
achieving  adventures,  attaining  honours,  and  even  dy- 
ing, yet,  after  all,  waking  and  discovering  the  supposed 
events  to  be  visionary.  "I  therefore,"  thought  he, 
"may  labour  under  the  same  delusion.    Who  is  Lord 

K ?     How  came  he  to  interest  himself,  unasked, 

for  me  ?  Why  am  I  here  ?  O  !  it's  a  palpable  trick 
of  fancy  all  through."  There  was  one  thing,  however, 
puzzled  him.  If  this  really  was  a  vision,  how  came 
he  so  well  enabled  to  calculate  upon  it,  and  to  be  so 
thoroughly  conscious  of  the  fact  ?  This  query  he  sa- 
tisfactorily answered,  on  recollecting  that  he  had  read 
in  a  work,  explaining  the  illusions  of  fancy,  an  anec- 
dote of  one,  who,  for  many  years,  nightly  dreamed  that 
he  was  pursued  as  a  murderer,  until,  by  a  strong  exer- 
cise of  mind,  he  succeeded  in  convincing  himself  that 
it  was  a  dream,  and  so  dispelled  the  enthralling  vision. 
"  Now,"  thought  Crisp,  "  this  incident  must  have 
made  a  deeper  impression  on  me  than  I  suspected,  and 
bears  out  the  author's  assertion,  that  things  long  for- 
gotten will  often  recur  to  memory  under  the  influence 
of  sleep.  /  am  dreaming ;  but  the  memory  of  the 
fancy-formed  murderer's  expedient  to  elude  his  trou- 
bled ideas  is  so  forcible,  as  to  convince  me  that  it  is  a 
dream  under  which  I  labour.  Well,  I  suppose  some- 
thing will  shortly  happen  to  wake  me  all  of  a  sudden." 
Notwithstanding  these  reflections,  Crisp  endeavoured 
to  make  himself  as  happy  and  agreeable  as  possible. 
There  is,  in  almost  "every  regiment,  some  one,  who, 
(though,  perhaps,  most  ignorant  of  military  duties,  and 
most  remiss  in  their  performance,)  from  his  unvarying 
good-humour  and  quiet  wit  is  the  darling  of  his  brother 


77 

officers — yet,  not  infrequently,  their  butt.  Such  was 
Crispin  Crisp.  He  scarcely  knew  the  manual  exercise, 
still  he  was  the  delight,  and  conciliated  the  good-will 
of  every  body.  He  would  fight  a  battle,  and,  imme- 
diately afterwards,  lighten  its  attendant  fatigues  by  the 
relation  of  some  laughable  story.  He  made  the  heart 
buoyant,  when  its  frame  was  heavy  in  a  march ;  and 
he  planned  expedients  for  converting  a  Spanish  hovel 
into  comfortable  quarters.  Was  the  mess-table  ill  spread 
— it  was  Crispin  Crisp  who  foraged  to  supply  the  de- 
ficiency. Was  a  suffering  man  to  be  relieved — it  was 
Crispin  Crisp  undertook  the  charitable  task.  Was 
the  sudden  attack  of  an  advance  guard  contemplated — 
Crispin  Crisp  sprang  forward  and  undertook  to  lead 
the  picquets  on  to  it.  In  short,  it  was  "  Crispin  here 
— Crisp  there — Crispin  Crisp  everywhere." 

One  circumstance  had  supereminently  entitled  Crisp 
to  the  good-will  of  his  brother  officers.  The  colonel 
of  his  regiment  was  one  of  those  little  fubsy,  paunchy 
fellows,  we  so  frequently  find  raised  through  interest 
rather  than  merit  to  their  exalted  stations,  and  looked 
not  unlike  an  unwieldy  hogshead,  supported  by  a  couple 
of  spindles  ;  added  to  this,  he  was  arrogant,  imperious, 
conceited  and  brutal — so  that  not  a  man  in  the  corps 
bore  any  marvellous  affection  for  him.  When  our  hero 
first  entered  the  barracks,  on  reaching  London,  he  was 
so  struck  with  his  commander's  appearance,  that  he 
could  not  forbear  saying  to  Randolph  aloud,  "  In  the 
name  of  all  that's  fat  and  funny,  who  is  that  odd  little 
body  at  the  head  of  the  table  ?" 

Flash  pan — for  so  we  will  designate  the  worthy  of- 
ficer, for  fear  of  an  action  for  libel,  should  we  disclose 
his  real  name — hearing  this  question,  said,  with  a  look 
of  great  would-be-fierceness,  "  Silence,  sir;  and  learn 
to  talk  more  respectfully  in  the  presence  of  your  supe- 
rior officer.     It  is  your  colonel  who  speaks." 

Now  Crispin  Crisp  thought  that  this  being  only  a 

dream,  it  was  rather  hard  for  so  fine  a  looking  fellow 

as  himself  to  be  commanded  by  the  object  before  him ; 

and,  conceiving  it  quite   possible  to  reverse  the  affair, 

7* 


78 

he  put  on  a  burlesque  imitation  of  Flashpan's  look — 
strutted  up  to  him — and,  gazing  with  ineffable  contempt 
on  his  upturned,  wrathful  phiz,  exelaimed,  "  I'm  a 
bigger  man  than  you,  colonel."  The  outrageous  laugh- 
ter that  burst  forth  from  all  sides  at  this  unprecedented 
salutation,  drove  the  colonel  frantic,  and,  from  that 
moment,  he  never  missed  an  opportunity  of  annoying 
and  affronting  the  cause  of  it,  whilst  the  officers 
rejoiced  at  their  commander's  mortification,  and  idol- 
ized the  man  whose  unsophisticated  humour  (as  they 
imagined)  had  enabled  him  to  effect  it. 

Meanwhile,  our  ensign  dreamed  on  through  a  course 
of  three  years,  without  ever  awaking,  and  at  length 
grew  tired  of  the  deception  which  Somnus  had  put 
upon  him.  "  This  seems  a  dreary  and  a  long  night. 
Why  the  nap  of  the  seven  sleepers  was  nothing  to  it !" 
he  said,  one  day  whilst  sitting  in  his  tent.  "I  begin 
to  suspect  that  I  must  be  awake.  But,  if  so,  what 
brings  me  here  ?  Aye,  that's  a  poser — there's  the  rub." 
As  he  spoke  he  carelessly  unclosed  a  book  which  had 
been  lent  him,  and  began  to  peruse  its  pages.  It  was 
a  volume  of  the  Spectator,  and  the  number  on  which 
his  eye  rested  was  the  one  containing  the  well-known 
fable  of  a  Persian  prince  dipping  his  head  into  a  basin 
of  water,  and  immediately  withdrawing  it,  yet,  during 
that  short  period  of  time,  he  had  by  the  power  of  ma- 
gic fancied  himself  a  wanderer  for  seven  years — a  hus- 
band— a  father — and  finally  a  suicide.  "  By  jingo  !" 
quoth  Crispin  Crisp,  "  the  murder's  out,  and  this  ex- 
plains all ;  I  am  dreaming,  then,  sure  enough  ;  and 
deceitful  fancy  is  stretching  moments  into  days,  minutes 
into  months,  and  hours  into  years — I  wonder  when  I 
shall  awake  !"  Full  of  these  reflections  he  quitted  his 
tent  to  stroll  awhile  over  the  enchanting  plains  of  An- 
dalusia, on  the  frontiers  of  which  far-famed  province 
the  brigade  was  encamped,  awaiting  reinforcements  to 
assist  in  attacking  a  small  fortified  town  in  the  moun- 
tains, which  they  were  now  prevented  from  attempting 
by  a  large  body  of  French  troops  that  held  a  position 
in  front  to  defend  it.     He  had  scarcely  proceeded  half 


Mi 


79 

a  mile  before  he  met  a  young  Spaniard,  attired  in  the 
habit  of  the  middling  classes,  who  civilly  requested 

his  way  to  the  tent  of  Ensign  Crisp,  of  the th. 

"  What  want  you  there  !  Its  occupant  stands  before 
you,"  said  Crispin. 

"  Then  my  walk  will  be  all  the  shorter,  senhor," 
said  the  lad.  "  My  master  desires  me  to  say  that  he 
gives  no  credit  to  soldiers  ;  he  has  therefore  sent  his 
bill  for  the  goods  you  had  of  him,  and  requests  pay- 
ment in  ready  cash — as  it  is  out  of  all  course  to  take  a 
note  of  exchange  from  an  alien — and  that  too  upon  a 
person  in  England."  As  he  spoke,  the  young  man 
presented  our  hero  with  a  paper,  containing  several 
items  for  jewellery,  &c.  which  it  stated  he  had  bought. 
"  Now  this  is  curious,"  thought  Crisp,  "  and  fur- 
nishes a  fine  exemplification  of  the  inconsistency  of 
dreams.  Notwithstanding,  that  I  am  away  from  Eng- 
land, and  a  soldier  to  boot ;  the  bills  I  gave  to  Tom 
and  Harry  (curse  'em)  are  preying  upon  my  memory, 
and  so  amalgamate  themselves  with  present  circum- 
stances, as  to  become  conglomerated  into  one  mass  of 
events.  However,  I  may  as  well  be  honest  in  my 
sleep,  and  pay — while  the  short-lived  power  lasts  to 
do  so — as  I  don't  question  but  that  I've  had  the  goods, 
and  forgotten  all  that  part  of  ray  dream."  He  accord- 
ingly pencilled  an  order  upon  the  quarter-master  to 
discharge  the  full  amount  of  the  bearer's  demands,  and 
then  pursued  his  walk. 

Evening  was  now  drawing  on,  and  the  surrounding 
scenery  received  a  tint  of  mellowed  richness  which 
nothing  out  of  heaven  but  a  setting  sun  in  Spain  can 
impart.  The  castellated  mansion,  the  luxuriant  vine, 
and  the  blue,  far-off  mountains,  were  all  radiant  with 
purple  and  gold.  The  sky  seemed  one  ocean  of  living 
fire,  and  reflected  its  glorious  hues  in  every  shade  of 
glowing  beauty  upon  the  fertile  Andalusian  plains  be- 
neath it,  as  now  they  swelled  into  gentle  eminences, 
and  then  became  buried  in  some  peaceful  glade.  All 
around,  too,  slumbered  in  such  profound  repose,  that 
had  it  not  been  for  the  occasional  sound  of  some  mule- 


80 

teer  singing  in  the  distance,  the  dull  tolling  of  a  con- 
vent bell,  or  the  deep  "All's  well"  of  the  drowsy  cen- 
tinel,  our  hero  might  have  fancied  himself  in  the  peace- 
ful wilds  of  paradise ;  and,  struck  by  the  loveliness  of 
the  view,  he  cried  aloud  with  rapture — "  O  !  that  I 
might  never  wake  from  a  spell  like  this  to  cold  reality!" 
On,  on  he  wandered  ;  darkness  rapidly  approached, 
and  the  stars  of  night  burned  brightly  through  her  sable 
mantle.  Presently  the  skies  opened  and  a  flood  of 
silver  light  touched  nature  with  a  new  brilliance,  and 
disclosed  a  broad  refulgent  moon,  sailing  to  her  west- 
ern home  in  a  sea  of  liquid  pearl ;  Crisp  was  lost  in 
an  ecstacy  of  amazement,  and  without  heeding  the 
fleeting  time,  still  went  onward  till  he  found  himself 
beneath  the  terrace  of  a  small  chateau,  which  stood 
embowered  amid  a  cluster  of  orange-trees  that  scented 
every  gale  with  their  fragrance.  The  extreme  sim- 
plicity and  elegance  of  the  place  struck  our  wanderer 
with  fresh  delight,  and  whilst  he  stood  wrapt  in  admi- 
ration, a  voice — clear  and  soft  as  distant  music  on  a 
summer  breeze — pronounced  his  name  from  above. 
"I  am  in  fairy  land,  and  this  its  presiding  spirit," 
thought  Crispin  Crisp. 

"  Hist !  senhor — senhor  Crisp  !"  repeated  the  voice, 
in  still  more  harmonious  tones. 

"  Nightingales  and  elves  !"  said  Crispin  Crisp,  look- 
ing about  him. 

"  Speak,  senhor,  are  you  there  ?"  inquired  another 
voice. 

"  Yes,  I  am  here — what  do  you  want  ?"  said  our 
hero,  lost  in  surprise  at  this  new  event. 

"  Then  we  will  descend  immediately.  Hold  the 
ladder  firm,"  rejoined  the  second  voice,  and  at  the 
same  instant  a  rope  ladder  was  thrown  down  to  Crisp, 
who  instinctively  caught  hold  of  it,  whereupon  a  form, 
which  embodied  all  his  ideas  of  sylphs  and  nymphs, 
descended.  "  Come,  Isabella,  quick,  or  we  shall  be 
discovered  !"  she  exclaimed  on  reaching  the  ground. 
The  summons  was  obeyed  by  a  girl,  who  appeared  to 
be  her  waiting  woman,  and,  in  another  minute,  Crisp 


■■ 


81 

found  himself  between  two  females,  the  principal  of 
whom  excelled  in  beauty  all  he  had  ever  beheld.  Her 
figure  might  have  been  termed  voluptuous,  but  for 
the  retiring  and  maidenly  beauty  which  added  a  finish 
to  its  grace.  Her  face' might  "have  been  thought  too 
bold  and  dignified,  but  for  the  feminine  and  delicious 
languor  which  overspread  it;  whilst  her  eye — her 
large  black  eye — might  have  been  pronounced  by  many 
to  be  too  eagle-like  in  its  glances,  but  for  the  entreating, 
winning  expression,  which  enticed  the  soul  to  admi- 
ration and  love.  "  O  that  eye  !  that  eye  !"  mentally- 
exclaimed  Crispin  Crisp,  as  he  stood  winking  and 
blinking  with  expectation  of  what  was  to  occur  next. 
"  I  am  thinking,"  said  Isabella,  the  maid,  "  that  it 
is  time  to  move  onward." 

"  I  perfectly  agree  with  you — but  whither  ?"  said 
Crisp,  taking  the  fair  senhora's  arm. 

"Santa  Maria!  what  voice  do  I  hear?"  cried  the 
lady  ;  then  looking  up,  she  exclaimed  with  a  faint 
scream — M  Angels  protect  me  !  this  is  some  stranger." 
"  Then  let  us  be  strangers  no  longer.  Here  is  my 
card— if  ever  you  walk  as  far  as  England,  drop  in  at 
Crisp  Hall  in  your  way." 

H  What  mystery  is  here?"  said  Isabella  ;  "  this  is 
the  verv  counterpart  of  the  card  which  Senhor  Crisp 
presented  my  mistress,  when  first  she  met  him.  Is 
Crispin  Crisp  a  cameleonf" 

M  We  must  allow  for  the  usual  anomalies  of  dreams," 
said  Crisp  to  himself;  and  again  an  embarrassed  pause 
took  place,  which  was  at  length  broken  by  the  senhora. 
"  I  have  been  deceived,"  she  said,  whilst  a  tear  gem- 
med either  eye,  "  cruelly  deceived,  yet  I  tremble  at 
the  thoughts  of  a^ain  entering  that  house." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  our  hero,  fearing  to  lose  so  much 
beauty.  "  Cannot  I  conduct  you  to  a  place  of  refuge? 
I  don't  know  who  you  take  me  for,  but  I  am  a  British 
soldier,  lady ;  and  will  pledge  my  sacred  honour  for 
your  safety." 

11  And  I  am  a  Spanish  girl  full  of  romance  and  con- 
fidence.    There  is  a  convent  three  leagues  across  the 


82 

mountains,  where  I  could  find  a  sure  asylum.  Lend 
me  your  protection  thither,  and  may  you  never  sue  for 
woman's  heart  in  vain." 

"  You  shall  have  it  against  a  host  of  assailants," 
cried  Crisp.  "  Come,  lean  on  my  arm  ;  we'll  procure 
horses  at  the  camp,  and  ere  Diana  reaches  the  third 
quarter  of  the  heavens,  her  rival  in  loveliness  shall  be 
safe." 

The  senhora  and  her  maid  at  once  committed  them- 
selves to  his  care,  and,  keeping  as  much  as  possible 
in  the  shade,  he  conducted  them  to  the  outposts.  On 
their  way  there  the  lovely  fugitive,  in  answer  to  Crisp's 
inquiries,  disclosed  the  particulars  relating  to  her  pre- 
sent situation.  Her  name  was  Isidora  de  Murilla  :  her 
father  was  a  haughty  grandee,  whose  only  care  through 
life  was  the  aggrandizement  of  himself  and  family  ;  her 
mother  had  secretly  embraced  the  Protestant  religion, 
and  instilled  its  mild  precepts  into  Isidora's  mind.  On 
being  bereaved  of  this  parent,  it  was  intimated  to  Isi- 
dora that  she  was  expected  to  take  the  veil ;  as  two  of 
her  brothers  were  about  to  enter  the  army  in  order 
that  the  eldest  son  (by  being  left  in  sole  possession  of 
all  the  estates)  might  aspire  to  the  hand  of  one  of  the 
wealthiest  heiresses  in  Madrid,  and  so  raise  the  name 
of  Murilla  to  the  pinnacle  of  grandeur. 

"  That  was  dirty  behaviour  towards  the  other  chil- 
dren," said  Crispin  ;  "  but  I  have  somewhere  read 
that  the  ladder  of  ambition  must  be  fixed  in  mire  to 
prevent  its  slipping — so  that  accounts  for  it." 

"  The  thoughts  of  becoming  a  nun,"  resumed  Isi- 
dora, "  nearly  distracted  me  ;  but,  alas  !  my  father 
would  hear  of  no  opposition  to  his  views,  and,  whilsi 
he  made  the  preliminary  preparations  necessary,  he 
sent  me  for  safety  under  the  care  of  my  younger  bro- 
thers to  yonder  villa.  These  coercive  measures  made 
me  still  more  resolute  in  my  resistance,  and  I  fortified 
myself  to  embrace  the  first  opportunity  of  escape  which 
offered ;  nor  was  I  destined  to  wait  long.  My  brothers, 
to  relieve  the  tedium  of  a  country  life,  frequently  by 
turns  visited  the  gaming-houses  of  a  neighbouring  dis- 


— 


83 

trict,  where  they  became  acquainted  with  a  young 
Englishman  bearing  your  name,  and  to  whom  they 
became  so  attached  that  they  frequently  invited  him 
home.  Chance,  spite  of  the  seclusion  in  which  I  was 
in  common  with  all  my  countrywomen  kept,  brought 
me  in  contact  with  this  person  ;  he  saw  I  was  unhappy, 
and,  with  the  thoughtless  confidence  of  an  almost  bro- 
ken-hearted girl,  I  so  far  lost  my  sense  of  decorum  aa 
to  suffer  him  to  draw  from  me  the  secret  of  my  griefs, 
and  to  consent  to  place  myself  under  his  protection 
till  I  could  reach  a  place  of  safety,  as  it  would  have 
been  impossible  for  me  to  have  done  so  without  assis- 
tance. Your  arrival  in  his  stead  remains  inexplicable, 
and,  if  my  former  conduct  was  open  to  the  charge  of 
rashness,' I  may  now,  with  justice,  be  charged  with 
absolute  imprudence  in  putting  myself  in  the  power  of 
a  stranger,  after  having  been  once  deceived.  But  do 
not  let  your  censure  be  added  to  the  world's  ;  indeed — 
indeed  I  am  pained  at  the  bold  part  I  am  acting,  and 
would,  if  possible,  shrink  from  it.  Heaven  knows  that 
all  I  wish  is  to  enter  myself  as  a  boarder,  (for  a  nun  I  can- 
not be  without  insnltingmy  religion,)  beneath  the  con- 
vent walls,  where  I  can  bid  defiance  to  parental  oppres- 
sion, and  where  my  mother's  and  my  own  jewels, 
which  I  have  brought  with  me.  will  furnish  ample 
means  of  support." 

There  was  an  avouch  of  modest  dignity  and  of 
maidenly  pride,  blended  with  a  sense  of  humiliation, 
in  Isidora's  look  and  manner  while  she  spoke,  that, 
had  her  words  been  gospel  truths,  Crisp  could  not  more 
implicitly  have  relied  upon  them.  M  I  sincerely  be- 
lieve you,  madam,"  he  said,  "  and  I  pray  you  to  banish 
all  doubts  of  my  honour.  Consider  yourself  a  pearl 
of  price,  and  me  a  jeweller  appointed  to  bear  you  to 
some  monarch's  foot.  You  may  then  form  an  idea  of 
the  care  I  will  take  of  you." 

They  had  now  reached  the  camp,  and  Crisp  left  the 
ladies  in  ambush  whilst  he  procured  horses,  which  he 
did  with  but  little  difficulty.  It  chanced  that  on  the 
present  evening  it  was  his  turn  to  mount  guard,  but, 


84 

waiving  all  other  duties  in  favour  of  that  of  defending 
helpless  woman,  he  quitted  the  camp  heedless  of  con- 
sequences. 

The  night  was  charming  ;  it  was  just  such  a  one  as 
those  with  which  our  own  little  boarding-school  beau- 
lies  love  to  invest  their  delicious  dreams  of  elopements : 
— a  clear  sky — a  full  moon — a  host  of  stars — an  angry 
father  behind — and  a  refuge  before  !  O,  it  was  su- 
perbly romantic,  and  our  party  spurred  on  towards  the 
mountains  with  an  animation  that  promised  to  support 
them  through  every  danger.  The  plains  were  soon 
cleared,  and  the  mountains  gained ;  here  the  wild 
thyme,  the  mountain  olive,  and  the  lowly  briar,  made 
the  warm  summer  air  more  endurable,  by  the  fragrance 
which  it  stole  from  them ;  but,  as  Crisp  and  his  charges 
ascended  higher  and  higher,  the  breeze  became  purer 
and  cooler  until  it  played  freely  and  freshly  upon  their 
brows  from  the  lofty  heights,  and,  owing  to  the  novelty 
of  being  scentless,  was  as  delightfully  refreshing  to  our 
travellers  as  a  cup  of  cold  spring  water  often  proves 
to  the  habitual  wine-bibber.  During  his  translocation 
from  vale  to  mount,  Crisp  experienced  so  much  bliss 
in  Isidora's  society,  that  he  imagined  himself  on  the 
point  of  waking.  "  I  shall  tumble  down  one  of  those 
ravines  presently,"  he  said,  half  aloud,  "  and  the  fall- 
ing sensation  will  rouse  me.  I've  often  started  from 
sleep  in  that  manner."  But  his  time  had  not  yet  ar- 
rived, and  he  sprang  from  slope  to  slope  without  pro- 
ducing the  expected  catastrophe.  Well,  at  last  they 
reached  the  convent  of  St.  Ursuline,  and  the.  production 
of  a  broad  piece  of  gold  won  a  speedy  admittance.  The 
madre  was  a  venerable  and  pious  old  lady,  and  soon 
suffered  herseF to  be  persuaded  to  grant  Isadora  shelter, 
especially  upon  hearing  that  she  was  a  sufferer  under 
persecution. 

"  And  now,  noble  sir,"  said  the  damsel,  "  permit  a 
helpless  girl  to  thank  you  for  your  generosity.  We 
shall  in  all  probability  not  meet  again,  yet  in  my  daily 
prayers  I  shall  not  forget  to  supplicate  Heaven  for  your 
happiness." 


85 

There  was  a  tear  in  the  eye  of  Crisp,  there  was  a 
wanness  on  his  cheek,  there  was  a  flush  on  his  brow, 
and  a  smile  of  rapture  on  his  lip,  as  Isidora  spoke  ;  but 
he  checked  the  utterance  of  his  feeling's,  for  he  found 
it  impossible  to  clothe  them  in  adequate  language  ;  and 
after  faltering  some  unintelligible  sounds,  he  took  her 
small  plump  hand  in  his,  and egad,  he  kissed  it! 

When  Sol  at  setting  bestows  his  parting  salute  on 
Terra,  the  goddess  does  not  receive  it  more  silently, 
or  with  a  deeper  blush,  than  did  the  Spanish  maiden 
that  of  Crisp's.  She  looked  down,  she  looked  up,  she 
looked  to  the  right,  and  she  looked  to  the  left ;  but  per- 
versely prevented  her  glance  from  meeting  his.  "  How 
provoking !"  thought  Crisp.  The  prolonged  silence 
now  became  irksome  ;  he  began  to  hope  she  meditated 
some  other  place  of  retreat,  and,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
audible,  ventured  to  suggest  a  flight  to  England, 
"  where,"  added  he,  "all  the  fathers  in  Europe  dare 
not  harm  you." 

Those  black  eyes  of  Isidora's  now  bent  full  upon 
our  hero's  face  ;  they  had  lost  their  fire  to  be  sure,  but 
the  cheek  seemed  to  have  gained  it,  and  there  was  a 
meaning  in  their  glance,  so  full  of  youthful  enthusiasm 
and  confidence,  that  Crisp  could  have  worshipped  her 
as  she  said,  "  To  me,  senhor,  this  is  a  homeless  world, 
and  all  corners  of  it  are  alike.  Should  I  have  your 
protection  thither  ?" 

That  glance, — those  words  did  Crispin  Crisp's 
business,  and,  fearful  of  committing  some  extravagance 
if  he  longer  stayed,  he  once  more  kissed  the  hand  of 
Isidora,  and  exclaimed,  "  To-morrow  you  shall  know 
all ;  I  will  be  with  you,  though  fire  and  blood  beset  my 
path  !"  So  saying,  he  hastily  quitted  the  place,  and 
remounting  his  steed,  turned  towards  the  "  tented 
fields."  Crisp  was  now  a  new  man  ;  he  felt  that  there 
was  a  being,  and  a  beautiful  one  too,  who  looked  up 
to  him  for  protection ;  and,  as  recent  events  hovered 
on  the  pinions  of  r3trospection,  light-winged  hope 
flew  around,  and  whispered  promises  of  felicity  which 
he  scarcely  dared  to  entertain.  Suddenly  he  paused, 
8 


86 

and  said  aloud  with  a  sigh,  "how  interesting  all  this 
would  be  in  reality — 'tis  a  thousand  pities  it's  a  dream  ! 
And  is  that  black-eyed  seraph  visionary  too  ?  But 
what  induces  me  to  think  of  her  ?  Surely  I'm  not  in 
love  !  'Gad,  I  begin  to  suspect  myself ;  it  strikes  me 
that  I'm  struck  /"  At  this  moment  a  violent  blow  upon 
the  temple  felled  him  to  the  earth,  and  interrupted  his 
reverie. 

"Gentlemen,  I  protest  against  such  conduct,"  cried 
Crisp,  raising  his  head  to  view  his  assailants  ;  but  no 
one  was  near — a  large  branch  of  a  chestnut-tree,  how- 
ever, o'ercanopied  the  path,  and  seemed  to  confess  it- 
self the  cause  of  his  accident.  He  shook  his  head 
dubiously. 

"  I  suppose  I  am  on  the  floor  now,"  remarked  he, 
drawing  in  his  legs  like  a  Mahometan  ;  "  I  must  have 
stricken  my  head  against  the  bed-post,  and  tumbled 
out  of  bed.  Well,  I  wonder  the  blow  did  not  wake 
me."  His  downfall  rendered  our  hero  more  circum- 
spect, and  he  peered  cautiously  round  to  see  if  he  was 
to  dream  that  hidden  foes  were  near.  Hidden  foes 
were  indeed  near,  for  lo  !  above  a  sapling  pine,  at  some 
little  distance,  he  saw  the  steel-cased  head  of  a  cuiras- 
sier grinning  at  him 

"  I  object  to  that  fellow's  existence  !"  said  Crispin 
Crisp,  leaping  upon  his  horse.  The  Frenchman,  with 
an  oath  and  a  smile,  cried,  "  Stand  !"  and  our  hero 
obeyed ;  but  it  was  only  to  draw  a  pistol,  and  aim  at 
his  enemy's  head.  Monsieur  did  the  like.  For  a  mo- 
ment there  was  an  ugly  pause. 

"  Surrender!"  roared  the  cuirassier. 

"I'll  see  you  d d  first  '.".shouted  Crispin. 

"  Then  die  !"  said  the  Frenchman,  firing.  The  ball 
whistled  harmlessly  by. 

"  That  was  a  miss,"  said  our  hero,  returning  the 
compliment,  and  with  so  sure  an  aim  that  his  ball 
pierced  the  soldier's  forehead.  He  fell  forwards  dead, 
and  was  borne  from  the  place  by  his  affrighted  steed 
in  full  gallop. 

"  Poor  devil!"  said  Crispin  Crisp. 


87 

The  report  of  fire-arms  alarmed  half  a  dozen  French 
videttes,  who  were  carousing  round  a  fire  behind  a 
neighbouring  thicket,  and  who  now  rose  one  and  all 
to  ascertain  what  was  going  forward.  Crisp  saw  their 
approach,  but  disdained  to  fly  ; — he  possessed  a  chi- 
valrous courage,  which  had  in  a  manner  hitherto  lain 
dormant,  but  which  late  circumstances  now  called  forth. 
The  light  of  love  was  in  his  heart,  and  served  to  dis- 
play its  nobler  qualities  in  the  same  manner  as  a  bright 
moon  discloses  beauties  in  a  landscape,  that  till  her  ri- 
sing had  been  obscured  by  darkness.  On  came  the 
men,  and  on  dashed  Crispin  Crisp.  They  met,  and, 
in  two  words,  they  fought.  Crisp's  horse  was  killed 
under  him,  still  he  laid  about  him  like  a  fox  in  a  farm- 
yard, and  despatched  several  foes,  without  once  ask- 
ing their  consent  to  his  proceedings,  until  only  one 
was  left  to  cope  with  him.  After  some  sharp  sword 
work,  the  Frenchman's  steel  was  broken,  and  the  two 
combatants  closed,  the  one  to  gain,  and  the  other  to 
keep,  possession  of  the  remaining  weapon.  In  the 
struggle,  Crispin  fell  on  his  back,  with  the  soldier  up- 
on him.  "  As  sure  as  I'm  born,  I've  a  shocking  night- 
mare this  evening,"  said  he,  groaning  under  his  ad- 
versary's weight. 

"  Yield  !"  said  the  opponent,  still  striving  for  our 
hero's  sword. 

"  What !  with  the  allied  forces  at  my  heels  ?  The 
night-mare  shall  kill  me  first,"  said  the  dreamer,  think- 
ing to  terrify  the  fellow  by  an  assertion  which  had  no 
source  but  in  his  own  brain. 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  what  do  I  hear  ?"  faltered  one  of  the 
men  who  had  fallen  beneath  our  adventurer's  arm,  and 
now  laid  gasping  in  the  agonies  of  death.  "The  army 
so  near  !  then  our  division  is  lost  if  it  approaches  ano- 
ther foot.  Ah,  mon  Dieu  !  would  I  could  crawl  to  our 
marechal  with  the  news.  Fly,  Francois,  fly,  and  tell 
Ney  to  retreat,  or  all  is  lost.  I  am  weak,  yet  I  have 
still  strength  to  hold  this  Englishman's  throat  while 
you  release  yourself.     Fly,  I  say  ;  tell  the  Corporal* 

*  The  by-name  which  Napoleon  received  from  his  soldiery. 


88 

that  I  left  home,  and  mother,  and  wife,  and  child,  to 
fight  his  battles,  and  that  my  last  act  was  to  choke  one 
of  his  enemies.  Vive  l'Empereur  !  Vive  Napoleon  !" 
With  these  words  the  dying  man  stretched  out  his 
hand,  and,  collecting  every  remaining  particle  of 
strength,  seized  Crisp's  throat.  The  action  exhausted 
him  ;  he  feebly  repeated  his  emperor's  name,  and  then 
was  silent.  The  hand  still  maintained  a  tight  clutch, 
but  it  had  slipped  from  its  hold,  and  was  motionless  ; 
he  was  dead.  The  poor  fellow's  loyalty  went  to  the 
heart  of  our  hero ;  he  was  deeply  affected,  and  volun- 
tarily yielding  his  sword  to  Francois,  he hit  him 

as  clean  a  left-handed  facer  as  ever  Cribb  or  Molineaux 
inflicted  in  the  prize  ring.  "  To  the  right  about,  and 
be  d — d  !"  he  exclaimed^;  "I  hav'n't  the  heart  to  take 
your  life  away  now."  The  Frenchman  gladly  took 
him  at  his  word,  and  showing  a  light  pair  of  heels 
made  the  best  of  his  way  to  his  regiment,  where  he 
spread  the  report  that  the  British  troops  were  in  advance. 
"  A  tolerably  sharp  night's  work  this,"  said  Grisp, 
picking  up  a  sword  to  replace  his  own,  "  by  Jove  I 
have  done  more  in  one  evening  than  many  a  hero  of 
romance  does  in  three  volumes  !"  He  was  now  about 
to  depart,  when,  as  he  stepped  over  the  body  of  the 
man  who  had  attempted  to  hold  him,  he  stooped  to 
search  his  pockets — not  for  plunder,  but  for  something 
to  keep  as  a  memorial  of  his  loyalty.  There  was  no- 
thing but  a  bead  purse,  containing  a  few  pieces  of 
coin  ;  these  he  emptied  into  the  dead  man's  bosom, 
saving  one  of  the  smallest  value,  which  with  the  purse 
he  carried  off  with  him.  After  trudging  about  a  mile 
onward  he  suddenly  heard  a  cock  crow,  and  looking 
up  he  perceived  one  perched  on  the  roof  of  a  low  sort 
of  stable,  adjoining  a  rather  neatly  built  cottage.  "  Ha, 
my  fine  fellow  !"  said  he,  "  I  must  have  you  for  my 
own  especial  picking.  The  mess-table  has  been  but 
badly  covered  for  some  days  past,  and  requires  the 
addition  of  such  an  embellishment." 

The  cock  flapped  his  wings  and  appeared  to  chuckle. 

"What,  do  you  defy  me,  eh?     That  seals  your 


89 

doom  ;  and  if  I  don't  carry  it  into  execution,  call  me 
noodle,  and  doodle  too,  if  you  like,"  said  Crisp. 

"  Cock-a-doodle-doo  !"  quoth  chanticleer. 

"  Now,  that's  making  game  of  me — it  is  but  fair, 
then,  that  I  should  in  return  make  game  of  you,"  re- 
turned our  hero,  seizing  the  bird,  and  expeditiously 
wringing  its  neck,  he  put  it  into  his  haversack,  and 
quietly  pursued  his  way  to  the  camp  without  further 
adventure. 

A  little  before  this  time,  the  troops  under  Welling- 
ton had  gained  a  very  signal  victory,  and  the  regiment 
commanded  by  Colonel  Flashpan  were  this  evening 
celebrating  it  with  carousals.  Crisp  reached  his  en- 
campment a  little  before  day-break,  and  was  just  in 
time  to  witness  the  finale  to  the  sports,  and  to  be  in- 
formed of  the  cause.  "  Aye,  aye  ;  stirring  times 
these,"  said  he,  poking  the  fire,  and  seating  himself 
beside  it,  to  warm  his  limbs,  which  the  morning  air 
had  chilled. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  quartermaster  (who  was  present) 
with  a  knowing  wink  and  drunken  leer  ;  "  and  as  none 
can  tell  what  may  happen  next,  suppose  you  give  me 
a  regular  receipt  for  the  sums  I  paid  to  your  order  last 
night."  Crisp  was  nothing  loth ;  but,  on  looking  over 
the  account,  he  perceived  that  a  great  number  of  bills 
had  been  discharged  in  addition  to  the  one  which  had 
been  presented  to  him  over  night.  "  I'll  not  put  up 
with  this,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  the  labour  will  be  quite 
Sisyphusian  if  every  guinea  I  get  is  to  go  in  this  man- 
ner. However,  I'll  not  give  a  receipt  for  one  farthing." 

"  Nonsense,  you  are  dreaming !"  said  the  paymaster. 

"  I  know  that !  Yet,  what  though  I  am  dreaming, 
I'm  as  wide  awake  to  imposition  as  you  are." 

This  produced  an  angry  rejoinder;  words  ran  high 
in  consequence,  and  a  scene  ensued  which  baffles  de- 
scription. The  officers,  all  partly  intoxicated,  rose 
en  masse  to  promote  a  row,  and  oaths,  laughter,  cries, 
and  toasts,  sounded  and  resounded  from  every  quarter, 
whilst  fresh  bumpers  of  wine  increased  the  excitement, 
and  the  jingling  of  smashed  glasses  tolled  a  requiem  to 
8* 


90 

the  departed  liquor.  When  the  confusion  was  at  its 
zenith,  a  message  was  brought  to  Crisp,  informing  him 
that  the  commandant  had  been  for  some  time  awaiting 
his  guard  report,  and  that  his  immediate  attendance 
was  desired.  Now  our  adventurer  had  frequently  been 
absent  on  former  occasions,  and  had  escaped  detection 
by  returning  the  usual  form  of  "  nothing  extraordi- 
nary since  guard  mounted,'"  he  consequently  plumed 
himself  with  the  hopes  of  being  similarly  successful 
on  the  present  one,  and  accordingly  drew  out  his  re- 
port and  went  with  it  to  the  commandant.  It  will  be 
recollected  that  that  worthy  personage  was  not  very 
fond  of  our  hero,  and  had  long  been  on  the  watch  to 
vent  his  spleen  against  him.  The  time  had  now  ar- 
rived. 

"  So,  sir,"  said  he,  after  reading  the  paper,  "  this 
is  the  report  of  your  last  night's  watch." 

"It  is,  colonel,"  said  Crisp. 

"  Hear  you  this  ?"  said  Flashpan  to  the  officers  who 
were  standing  by.  Then  addressing  Crisp,  he  added, 
"  How  dare  you,  sir,  have  the  effrontery  to  make  such 
an  assertion  ?  '  Nothing  extraordinary  !'  Why,  it  is 
notorious  to  the  whole  corps  that  a  horse  was  caught 
this  morning,  dragging  after  him  a  cuirassier,  with  his 
brains  blown  out,  and  quite  dead." 

"  Well,  colonel,  there  was  nothing  extraordinary  in 
that !  Had  the  man  been  living  under  such  circum- 
stances, I  should  have  reported  upon  the  singularity  of 
the  case,"  said  Crisp,  deliberately. 

This  unexpected  reply  nearly  puzzled  ihe  comman- 
dant ;  he,  however,  hinted  his  suspicions  that  Crisp 
had  been  in  communication  with  the  enemy,  as  it  had 
recently  transpired  that  he  had  departed  with  three 
horses,'  and  been  absent  since  nightfall. 

"  They  tell  me  I  have  been  an  absent  fellow  all  my 
life,"  said  Crisp. 

"  It's  all  very  fine  talking,"  said  Flashpan,  "but 
you  shall  account  for  last  night's  absence  at  all  events, 

and .    But  what  do  I  see  at  your  side  ?   A  sword 

of  French  workmanship,  as  I  live !  Lethim  be  searched," 


91 

he  added,  furiously.  The  order  was  obeyed,  and  from 
Crisp's  pocket  was  drawn  a  bead  purse,  containing  a 
demi-sous. 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  asked  Flashpan  ;  "  rip  the  purse  up ; 
there  may  be  something  concealed  in  it."  This  com- 
mand was  promptly  executed,  and  underneath  the  li- 
ning was  found  a  Napoleon,  side  by  side  with  a  gold 
medal,  which  the  poor  soldier  (the  original  possessor 
of  the  purse)  had  treasured  in  memory  of  his  emperor. 
"  If  ever  there  was  a  case  of  high  treason,  this  is 
one,"  exclaimed  the  colonel.  "  C4entlemen,  I  call  up- 
on you  all  to  bear  evidence  to  these  facts,  which  shall 
most  assuredly  be  made  the  subject  of  a  court-martial 
when  we  reach  England." 

Crispin  Crisp  stood  unmoved — nay,  he  even  smiled 
as  he  said,  half  aloud,  "  The  farce  is  reaching  its  close 
now  ;  the  cock  will  presently  crow,  and  I  shall  awake 
to  the  truths  of  reality." 

"  What  are  you  muttering,  sir  ?  Have  you  the  in- 
solence to  crow  over  us  ?" 

"  Cock-a-doodle-doo  I"  sounded  shrilly  through  the 
place.  "  Huzza!  huzza!"  shouted  Crispin,  capering 
about;   "  I  thought  so — I  said  so — I  knew  it  would 

come  to  this,  and Eh!  why,  zounds!"  (and  he 

rubbed  his  eyes,)  "  I  am  still  here,  and  morning  can- 
not have  yet  dawned !" 

All  this  was  as  fuel  to  the  fire  of  Flashpan's  wrath, 
which  increased  tenfold  when  Crisp,  after  a  moment's 
recollection,  threw  his  haversack  upon  the  table,  and 
out  stalked  the  bird  which  he  had  that  morning  cap- 
tured, which,  owing  to  his  hurry  and  awkwardness, 
he  had  failed  in  effectually  depriving  of  life.  "  This 
is  a  premeditated  insult,"  cried  the  colonel;  "but 
tremble  for  the  consequences.  There  is  a  vessel  about 
to  depart  in  a  few  days  for  England,  in  which  you  shall 
be  sent  over  in  close  custody,  and  it  shall  not  be  my 
fault  if  you  be  not  shot  when  you  arrive  there."  Flash- 
pan  then  rose,  and  bowing  round  him,  added,  "  And 
now,  gentlemen,  I  will  dissolve  this  meeting." 

"  Yes,  and  if  all  present  had  received  a  sentenee 


92 

like  mine,  it  would  be  dissolved  in  tears,"  said  Crisp, 
beginning  to  feel  a  little  frightened.  He  was  then  ta- 
ken to  the  guard-room,  and  there  left  a  prisoner.  All 
this  set  him  reflecting  '  like  mad.'  "  'Slife !"  said  he, 
"  this  is  beyond  a  joke  ;  it's  too  like  earnest  for  me. 
'Tishigh  time  to  wake,  and  I've  a  good  mind  to  shoot 
myself  in  order  to  do  so."  He,  however,  considered 
that  he  might  possibly,  by  such  an  act,  send  himself  into 
an  eternal  slumber,  when  his  intention  was  only  to 
rouse  himself  from  a  fancied  one.  Whilst  turning 
over  these  thoughts,  his  relative,  Captain  Randolph, 
entered  the  room,  but  Crisp  was  buried  in  such  pro- 
found abstraction  that  he  did  not  hear  him.  "  Well, 
ensign  ;  what  cheer  ?"  said  he,  advancing. 

"  « Who  would  fardels  bear, 

When  a  man  might  his  own  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  bodkin  ?'  " 

muttered  Crispin  without  heeding  him. 

"  Why,  Crisp,"  said  he  slappingourhero's  shoulder 
to  engage  his  attention  ;  "are  you  asleep?" 

"  Fast  as  a  church.  Do  wake  me,"  said  Crisp, 
turning  sharply  round. 

"  Mirthful  to  the  last,  I  perceive,"  returned  Ran- 
dolph. "  Zounds  !  why  did  you  absent  yourself?  We 
are  to  have  a  touch  at  the  enemy  in  yonder  town  to- 
day, and  your  jokes  would  have  sent  us  laughing  to 
the  duty." 

"  Indeed !  I  thought  that  Ney's  division  kept  us  at 
bay." 

"  So  it  did  ;  but,  for  some  unknown  cause,  he  has 
suddenly  retreated,  and  left  the  town  open  to  our  as- 
saults.    General got  scent  of  the   affair  this 

morning,  and  has  just  joined  us,  in  order  to  take  the 
place  by  storm  at  once." 

"  Then  let  me  see  him  this  instant,"  exclaimed 
Crisp  ;  "  It  was  I  who  caused  Ney  to  retreat.  I  killed 
six  of  his  men  last  night,"  and  sent  the  seventh  flying 
back  with  intelligence  that  the  whole  of  our  forces  were 
at  hand — a  ruse,  by  the  bye,  to  save  my  own  life, 


93 

ihough  the  recent  victory  must  have  favoured  it.  I 
had  forgotten  all  this  ;  my  innocence  will  now  be  ma- 
nifest, and  I  shall  go  jesting  onward  to  battle  as  usual." 
Randolph  was  delighted  to  hear  this,  and,  on  his 
own  responsibility,  carried  Crisp  to  the  general,  to 
whom  he  related  the  whole  of  his  adventures  of  the 
preceding  night. 

"  This  is  strange,  but  it  is  possible,"  observed  the 
general,  fixing  his  falcon  eye  upon  Crispin  ;  "  and 
Colonel  Fiashpan's  suspicions  may  be  incorrect.  But, 
to  the  escalade  !  Who'll  lead  the  forlorn  hope  ?"  he 
added,  with  a  sudden  transition  of  manner,  still,  how- 
ever, keeping  his  eye  on  Crisp. 

"  I'm  your  man,  general,"  exclaimed  Crispin,  with 
alacrity. 

"  On,  then,  sir,  and  wipe  out  the  stigma  you  have 
incurred,"  said  the  general. 

Other  volunteers  now  pressed  forward  ;  the  devoted 
band  was  speedily  formed,  and  in  a  few  hours  the 
troops  were  before  the  town.  After  the  usual  summons 
to  surrender,  and  a  prompt  refusal  to  do  so,   General 

took  Crisp's  hand,  and  bid  him  farewell.  "  You 

have  nobly  given  yourself  to  your  country,"  he  said  ; 
"  should  you  fall,  she  will  gratefully  cherish  your  me- 
mory. And  now  to  the  attack  ;  should  you  cross  the 
wall  alive,  pick  me  off  those  men  on  the  ramparts  to 
the  left — they  occupy  too  favourable  a  position  for 
us." 

"  Pick  /"  said  Crisp,  cheerfully  ;  "  why  general, 
you  talk  of  the  flower  of  the  enemy  as  if  they  were 
flowers  of  the  field,  but  I'll  do  my  best." 

So  saving,  he  led  his  men  to  the  walls.  The  annals 
of  our  tremendous  wars  with  other  countries  must  have 
made  every  reader  familiar  with  the  horrors  of  a  storm. 
Let  him  fancy  all  these  horrors  combined,  and  he  will 
be  able  to  form  an  idea  of  what  Crispin  had  to  en- 
counter. Thrice  was  the  ladder  thrown  down  which 
thrice  he  attempted  to  mount;  balls  whistled  thick  and 
three-fold  about  his  ears,  and  bjood  spouted  in  streams 
upon  him.     Still  he  urged  on  his  men,  still  he  conti* 


94 

nued  to  ascend,  until  he  set  his  foot  on  the  summit  of 
the  wall,  where  his  further  progress  was  opposed  by 
a  man,  whose  countenance  was  woefully  disfigured  by 
a  rainbow  of  bruises.     It  was  Francois. 

"  My  old  friend,  take  that !"  shouted  Crisp,  re- 
peating the  dose  he  had  not  long  back  administered. 
Francois  fell,  and  our  hero  cut  down  all  who  attempted 
to  supply  his  place  till  the  besiegers  had  made  a  secure 
lodgment  on  the  walls  ;  he  then  leaped  boldly  into  the 
town,  and  after  fighting  through  several  streets  gained 
the  fortress,  at  which  instant  he  received  a  bayonet 
wound  in  his  side.  Crispin  Crisp  upon  this  stood, 
with  warfare  raging  round  him,  as  immovable  as  a 
pump  in  a  shower.  *•  O  that  immortal  writer  on  the 
illusions  of  dreams  !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "how  well  he 
must  have  studied  his  subject  when  he  asserted  that 
things  taking  place  near  us  while  asleep,  however  tri- 
fling, instantaneously  form  so  mysterious  a  connection 
with  what  we  arc  dreaming  about,  that  we  consider  it 
as  a  piece  with  the  rest  of  the  vision.  No  doubt,  now, 
some  monstrous  flea  is  biting  me  rather  sharply,  and 
my  disturbed  imagination  magnifies  the  event  into  a 
wound  ;  it  certainly  is  very  comical."  Whilst  thus  he 
spoke,  his  eyes,  never  idle,  wandered  to  the  distant 
hills  beyond  the  town,  round  which  he  beheld  deploy- 
ing a  considerable  number  of  the  enemy's  troops,  who 
had  escaped  from  the  other  side  t>f  the  town  ;  he  in- 
stantly mounted  a  gun  to  discover  their  destination, 
and  found  it  to  be  the  convent  of  St.  Ursuline,  which, 
being  reared  on  the  summit  of  a  mountain  that  over- 
hung the  fort,  afforded  a  fine  position  from  whence  to 
gall  the  English.  "  Gracious  powers,  and  Isidora  is 
there  !"  cried  Crisp,  half  frantic.  No  time  was  now 
to  be  lost ;  the  town  was  already  won,  although  some 
desultory  fighting  still  went  on  in  the  streets.  He 
pointed  on  what  was  going  forward  to  his  general, 
(who  had  by  this  time  effected  an  entrance.)  and  with- 
out wailing  orders  rallied  his  men,  and  with  them  at 
his  heels  rushed  up  the. mountains.  His  progress  was 
much  impeded  by  detached  parties  of  the  French  who 


95 

disputed  every  inch  of  ground  to  give  their  comrades 
time  to  reach  St.  Ursuline's  ;  but  Crisp  was  irresistible 
— he  won  his  way  from  mountain  to  mountain,  from 
height  to  height,  and  readied  the  convent  nearly  at  the 
same  moment  with  his  enemies.  An  appalling  scene 
now  ensued.  Each  party  strove  to  secure  the  building, 
the  doors  were  burst  open,  men  fell  thick  across  the 
threshold,  and  their  dying  groans  added  fearfully  to 
the  already  existing  horrors.  After  a  severe  struggle, 
Crisp's  little  party  was  driven  back,  and  the  French 
obtained  a  lodgment ;  it,  however,  availed  them  but 
little,  as,  in  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  a  dusky  red  re- 
flection upon  the  sky  announced  the  edifice  to  be  in 
flames.  M  Isidora  !  now  or  never!"  shouted  Crisp,  and 
waving  on  his  soldiers  he  dashed  into  the  burning 
pile.  Chance,  for  nothing  else  could  have  conducted 
him  through  such  confusion,  led  him  unopposed  to  the 
refectory,  whither  the  trembling  nuns  had  retreated  in 
dismay.  Smoke  filled  the  place,  and  fire  festooned  its 
walls,  but  a  lover's  eye  penetrated  the  brilliant  gloom, 
and  our  hero  saw  the  Spanish  maiden  clinging  to  Isa- 
bella, in  a  state  of  the  wildest  affright.  "  'Tis  she, 
'tis  she  !"  he  uttered,  in  broken  tones  of  joy,  and  with 
one  elastic  bound  he  was  at  his  loved  one's  side.  Nei- 
ther spoke ;  one  look  told  volumes ;  he  held  her  for  a  mo- 
ment to  his  heart,  then  snatched  her  in  his  arms,  and, 
followed  by  Isabella,  bore  her  from  that  place.  A 
French  officer  obstructed  them  ;  Crispin  Crisp  stretched 
him  lifeless  upon  the  marble  pavement.  It  now  seemed 
as  if  Fate  resolved  to  claim  the  prize  which  Crisp  had 
fought  so  manfully  to  obtain,  for  in  his  progress  along 
the  gallery  a  hundred  balls  crossed  each  other  in  va- 
rious directions,  with  our  hero  in  the  midst,  but  good 
fortune  preserved  him  unhurt,  and  he  gained  the  stair- 
case without  injury,  when,  as  he  was  on  the  point  of 
descending  it,  an  aged  monk  arrested  his  arm.  "  My 
son,"  said  the  friar,  "  what  would  you  do  ?  leave  that 
poor  girl  to  perish,  rather  than  that  one  devoted  to  hea- 
ven should  become  polluted  by  an  unholy  intercourse 
with  the  world." 


96 

"  She's  not  a  nun — let  me  pass,"  exclaimed  Crisp, 

"  Never !"  the  sanctuary  of  the  Lord  shall  not  be 
profaned  while  I  have  life,"  said  the  monk  sternly. 

Crisp  paused  ;  he  knew  not  how  to  act.  His  op- 
poser  was  a  minister  of  God — of  that  God  whom  we 
all  adore,  however  differently.  Time  was  precious, 
yet  Crispin  (though  half  inclined)  hesitated  to  strike, 
when  suddenly  a  bullet  whizzing  across  the  gallery 
saved  him  the  trouble,  by  entering  the  friar's  forehead. 
He  fell,  like  the  snow-crowned  rock  beneath  a  thun- 
derbolt. 

After  this,  Crisp  met  with  no  more  misadventures. 
The  battle  was  gained  through  his  bravery,  and  the 
general,  in  consequence  of  his  wound,  permitted  him 
to  return  to  England,  giving  him  also  a  recommendation 
to  government  as  worthy  to  be  promoted.  Our  ad- 
venturer now  turned  to  Isadora,  and,  with  persuasive 
eye  and  tongue,  asked  her  to  accompany  him.  The 
lovely  dark-eyed  girl  expressed  her"  willingness  to  do 
so,  but,  wTith  a  due  proportion  of  "  oh's,  ah's,  and 
alas's  !"  feared  she  wTould  not  be  able,  as  her  jewels 
and  gold  had  been  unfortunately  left  amid  the  convent 
ruins.  Our  hero  declared  that  he  should  not  care  a 
button  about  it,  if  she  would  but  bestow  her  hand  up- 
on him  on  arriving  in  England.  The  lady  blushed  her 
consent,  (she  knew  she  felt  sufficiently  grateful  to  love 
him  in  time,)  and  to  crown  this  happiness,  Isabella  now 
informed  him  that,  with  more  foresight  than  her  mis- 
tress, she  had  secured  all  the  aforesaid  valuables  about 
her  person.  Thus  all  matters  were  pleasantly  adjusted, 
and  the  three  happy  folks  set  sail  for  our  "  tight  little 
island  ;"  but — ah  me  !  they  were  not  many  miles  from 
their  destination  when  a  storm  sprung  up,  and  the 
vessel  was  nearly  dashed  to  pieces  against  a  rock.  The 
concussion  threw  Crispin  Crisp  overboard,  and,  half 
choked  with  water,  he  had  barely  strength  to  grasp  a 
spar  which  floated  past  him.  "  If  this  be  a  dream," 
he  said,  "  this  is  going  too  far,  and  I'll  sleep  no  longer. 
Here  landlord,  landlord,  come  and  wake  me."  As  he 
spoke  his  head  struck  against  some  hard  substance, 
and  he  was  completely  stunned. 


97 

How  long  he  remained  insensible  he  could  never 
tell,  but  when  he  awoke,  he  found  himself  (as  he  had 
all  along  anticipated)  in  his  own  snug  little  bed,  at  the 
Cat  and  Kittens  Inn,  where,  our  readers  may  remem- 
ber, he  resided  on  their  first  introduction  to  him.  For 
some  moments  he  could  scarcely  believe  the  circum- 
stance ;  he  rubbed  his  eyes,  he  pinched  himself,  and 
played  all  sorts  of  antics,  still  the  same  well  remem- 
bered objects  presented  themselves  to  view,  and  with 
a  deep-drawn  sigh  he  exclaimed,  "  Ah  !  then  I  see  it 
is  a  dream  after  all.  And^that  attractive  creature  too — 
so  full  of  purity  and  love — alas  !  I  shall  never  see  her 
more.  Egad  !  though,  I'll  get  drunk  every  night,  and 
who  knows  but  what  I  may  dream  of  her  for  ever." 
By  this  time  he  was  up  and  half  dressed,  and  after 
concluding  that  operation,  he  descended  to  the  break- 
fast room,  at  the  door  of  which  he  was  met  by  his 
landlord. 

"  Good  morning,  sir;  I  hope  you  feel  quite  reco- 
vered," quoth  Taptub,  with  a  congee. 

"  I  can't  say  I  do,  landlord,  so  much  liquor  upset 
me.     I  feel  the  swimming  yet,"  replied  Crisp. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  the  liquor  was  not  of  the  right  sort  for 
you,"  returned  mine  host,  making  way  for  his  guest 
to  enter. 

Crisp  passed  on,  and  immediately  on  opening  the 
door,  saw  his  quondam  friends,  Tom  and  Harry, 
seated  between  a  couple  of  strange-looking  fellows  at 
the  table,  "  A  pretty  trick  you  served  me  last  night," 
said  he,  sitting  down. 

4i  Last  night  !"  said  Harry,  staring  at  him  ;  then,  as 
if  suddenly  recollecting  himself,  he  exclaimed,  "  Why, 
this  is  Crispin  Crisp  !  We  hav'n't  seen  you  for  three 
years!" 

M  O!  I'm  dozing  again,"  said  Crisp,  dropping  his 
head  upon  his  breast.  At  this  moment  the  landlord 
entered  with  information  that  a  vessel,  which  had  been 
beating  about  the  coast  all  night,  had  now  gone  to 
pieces  ;  but  that  the  crew  and  passengers  were  saved. 
"  Now,"  added  he,  "  as  there  is  afire  in  this  room — " 
9 


98 

"  I  know  what  you  would  ask.  Bring  them  in  here 
by  all  means,"  interrupted  Crisp,  starting  up  with  a 
feeling  for  which  he  could  not  account.  "  And  tell 
your  wife  to  come  and  attend  them." 

"  My  wife,  poor  soul !  she  has  been  dead  this  twelve- 
month," said  Taptub,  making  his  exit. 

"  Dead  !  What  a  lying  rascal  that  is.  Why,  I  saw 
her  last  night.  Ha  !  what  form  is  that  ?  What  bright 
vision  again  crosses  my  enraptured  eyes  ?  It  is  Isa- 
dora. O  !  if  I  do  dream  let  me  dream  thus  for  ever !" 
It  was  indeed  Isadora  and  Isabella,  who  were  now 
brought  in  dripping  with  salt  water.  She  uttered  a 
scream  of  delight  on  again  beholding  our  hero  alive, 
and  rushed  into  his  arms.  "For  the  love  of  heaven," 
he  exclaimed,  "  let  somebody  explain  this  mystery, 
or  I  shall  lose  my  senses." 

"  We  are  the  cause  of  it  all,  but  you  see  to  what 
we  have  brought  ourselves  through  it,"  said  Harry, 
holding  up  his  wrists,  and  displaying  a  strong  pair  of 
handcuffs  upon  them.  "  However,  if  you  will  con- 
descend to  give  me  your  attention,  I  will  explain  every 
thing.  Harry  then  entered  upon  a  long  story ;  but,  as 
I  love  all  explanations  to  be  short,  I  will  give  the  sum 
total  in  my  own  words  as  concisely  as  possible. 

Tom  and  Harry  were  noted  swindlers  and  gamblers, 
and  had  been  concerned  in  some  nefarious  transactions 

with  Lord  K ,  (a  half  ruined  blackleg,)  over  whom 

they  thus  acquired  a  power,  which,  whenever  cash 
ran  low,  they  did  not  fail  to  exercise.    To  rid  himself 

of  the  yoke,  K offered  to  procure  one  of  them  a 

commission  in  the  army — as  they  had  long  contem- 
plated a  trip  abroad,  to  see  what  harvest  might  be 
reaped  among  the  spendthrift  soldiers — and,  as  the  po- 
lice were  on  the  alert  to  catch  them,  they  expressed 
themselves  thankful  for  the  offer.  While  he  was  ma- 
king the  necessary  arrangements,  they  retired  to  the 
Cat  and  Kittens  Inn,  and  there  concocted  plans  for  rai- 
sing a  supply  to  outfit  them  in  appearance  as  officer 

and  servant.     K visited   them  in  their  retreat  to 

arrange  with  them  concerning  what  name  the  com- 


99 

mission  had  better  be  applied  for — as  their  own  were 
too  notorious.  Prompted  by  a  freak  of  fancy,  they 
gave  him  one  of  the  cards  which  they  had  received 
from  Crispin  Crisp  :  knowing  him  to  be  of  a  good  fa- 
mily, and  yet,  from  his  pedestrian  habits,  believing 
him  to  be  but  little  known — so  that  there  was  small 
chance  of  the  imposture  being  discovered.  In  this  they 
were  mistaken,  for  we  have  seen  that  Captain  Ran- 
dolph immediately  recollected  his  relation's  name,  and 
Lord  K ,  (having  no  means  of  explaining  the  mis- 
take without  exposing  himself,)  was  obliged  to  let  the 
matter  proceed,  and,  to  prevent  unpleasant  conse- 
quences, forwarded  his  colleagues  a  sum  of  money, 
and  informed  them  of  what  had  happened  in  time  to 
enable  them  to  get  out  of  the  way — which  they 
promptly  did,  laudably  forgetting  to  discharge  the  little 
debts  they  had  contracted  in  the  neighbourhood. 

The  wayward  life  which  Crisp  had  led,  left  his 
mind  open  to  strange  impressions  ;  and,  when  he  had 
found  himself  raised  to  a  rank  he  had  never  so  much 
as  desired,  he  thought  that  it  could  be  nothing  more 
than  a  dream,  and  the  idea  gaining  ground  in  his  un- 
settled mind,  produced  a  species  of  madness,  distin- 
guished amongst  the  faculty  by  the  name  of  "  Mono- 
mania." Being  insane  but  upon  one  point,  and  never 
divulging  his  thoughts  to  others,  he  passed  muster 
without  suspicion — save  that  he  was  considered  to  be 
a  very  eccentric  fellow.  Meanwhile,  the  swindlers 
proceeded  to  Spain — still  bearing  our  hero's  cognomen 
— and  baited  for  gudgeons  daily.  It  was  Tom  who 
ran  up  the  jeweller's  bill  which  Crisp  eventually  had 
to  pay ;  and  it  was  Tom  who  thought  to  make  a  fine 
prize  by  running  away  with  Isadora  ;  but  that  lady's 
brothers  got  scent  of  the  affair,  and  with  all  the  rage 
of  Spaniards,  flew  sword  in  hand  to  avenge  the  preme- 
ditated insult  upon  their  family.  Tom  was  not,  how- 
ever, fightable ;  and  falling  upon  his  knees,  implored 
for  life  in  the  most  abject  terms.  With  hearty  con- 
tempt the  young  men  granted  his  permission  ;  but  in- 
sisted upon  his  immediately  leaving  the  province  and 


100 

embarking  for  England  under  their  own  observation. 
While  this  was  going  forward  our  hero  was  enabled 
to  carry  off  the  maiden  unobstructed,  which  would  not 
otherwise  have  been  the  case.  The  remainder  of  our 
denouement  may  now  be  guessed.  Tom  and  Harry 
were  recognized  and  seized  a  day  or  two  after  landing 
on  the  coast  of  Devonshire,  and  carried  to  the  identi- 
cal inn  which  they  left  three  years  before,  whilst  the 
constables  partook  of  refreshment.  To  this  inn  also 
was  Crispin  Crisp  carried,  having  been  washed  ashore 
and  discovered  by  some  excise  officers  who  were  for- 
tunately on  the  look  out. 

Our  task — no  pleasing  duty — is  now  concluded. 
Crispin  Crisp  became  convinced  that  he  was  awake, 
and  married  Isadora.  He  indulged  a  strange  fancy  that 
the  good  wishes  of  the  poor  woman  whose  distresses 
he  had  relieved  on  the  morning  succeeding  his  drunken 
bout  had  been  somewhat  instrumental  in  bringing 
about  his  present  good  fortune ;  in  consequence  there- 
of, he  sought  her  out  and  made  her  comfortable  for  life. 
Thus,  moral  and  poetical  justice  was  done  to  all  par- 
ties, and  thus  conclude  "  The  Adventures  or  Cris- 
pin Crisp  !" 


1 


101 


MY   FIRST  DUEL. 


"  This  is  an  awkward  affair,  Frank." 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Frank,  "it  is  an  awkward 
affair." 

"But  I  suppose  I  must  go  through  with  it,"  I  con- 
tinued. 

"No  doubt,"  rejoined  my  friend;  "and  you  may 
rest  assured,  that  although  the  anticipation  is  not  very 
agreeable,  you'll  find  the  thing  a  mere  bagatelle  when 
on  the  ground." 

"  You'll  take  care  to  have  everything  ready,  and  to 
call  me  betimes  ;  will  you  Frank?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  Ephraim,  rely  upon  me  ;  and 
now,  as  it  is  already  twelve,  and  we  have  to  go  out  at 
six,  perhaps  I  had  better  wish  you  good  night,  that 
you  may  rest  and  have  a  steady  hand  in  the  morning. 
Before  I  go,  however,  there  is  one  thing  I  wish  to 
mention  to  you." 

"And  what  is  that?"  said  I. 

"  Why,"  replied  Frank,  hesitatingly,  "  it  is  hardly 
worth  troubling  you  about ;  but  the  fact  is,  there  is  a 
custom — that  is,  people  have  on  these  occasions  a  sort 
of  habit  of  making  their — their " 

"  Their  exit  I  presume  you  mean  ?" 

"  Not  so,  my  dear  fellow;  nothing  was  farther  from 
my  thoughts,  as  I  hope  (with  God's  will)  nothing  is 
farther  from  fact  than  the  probability  of  such  a  catas- 
trophe to  the  present " 

"  Farce  ;  but  come,  Frank  what  is  this  that  you 
would  require  of  me,  or  enjoin  me  to  ?" 

"  Briefly,  then,  Ephraim,  might  it  not  be  as  well 
now  as  at  any  other   time,  just  for  form's   sake,   to 
scratch  down  a  memorandum  of  your  wishes  respect- 
ing the  disposal  of  your  property  ?" 
9* 


102 

"  Oh  Lord !"  said  I,  "  is  that  the  mouse  your 
mountain  laboured  with?  My  property!  God  forgive 
you,  Frank  !  Well  as  Tom  Moore  says — 
'  I  give  thee  all ;  I  can  no  more.3 
I  will  bequeath  you  my  debts,  with  a  proviso  that  you 
don't  pay  interest;  but  seriously,  I'll  think  of  what 
you  say;  and  now,  good  night;  and  for  Heaven's 
sake  be  punctual  in  the  morning!" 

"  Never  fear  that.  Good  night,"  said  Frank ;  "  and 
do  you  hear,  Ephraim  ?  You  may  take  a  pint  of 
Madeira  if  you  have  an  inclination  to  it,  to-night;  but 
not  a  drop  of  port,  sherry,  or  brandy.  I  must  have 
you  placed  with  a  cool  head,  a  clear  eve,  and  a  steady 
fist." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I,  "  I  promise  to  be  observant 
of  your  orders  ;"  and  after  once  more  exchanging 
greetings,  the  door  closed,  and  I  was  left  to  myself. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  when  I  found  myself  alone,  "  this 
is  a  delightful  sort  of  dilemma  to  be  placed  in.  If  I 
loved  the  girl,  there  would  be  some  satisfaction  in 
standing  up  to  be  shot  at  for  her ;  but  to  be  blazed 
away  at  for  a  wench  that  I  don't  care  a  curse  for — to 
be  compelled  to  fight  for  a  mere  flirtation — is  certainly 
at  the  least,  very  disagreeable.  However,  I  suppose 
I  must  let  the  fellow  have  a  brush  at  me,  and  so  there 
is  no  more  to  be  said  on  that  head.  By-the-by,  Frank 
hinted  (with  prophetic  foresight,  I  presume)  at  the  ne- 
cessity of  my  disposing  in  writing  of  my  moveables. 
tfllons  done,  let  me  see.  First,  there  is  my  linen  and  my 
clothes  ;  let  poor  Betty  have  them,  to  recompense  her 
in  part  for  the  colds  she  has  caught  in  letting  me  in 
many  a  morning;  the  chances  are  she'll  catch  no 
more  on  that  errand.  My  coins  and  medals  may  be 
given  to  C.  Then  there  are  my  books,  and  chief  of 
them  all,  sinner  as  I  am,  my  Bible,  if  I  dare  name  it 
with  the  purpose  of  blood  upon  my  mind.  I  charge 
you,  Frank,  deliver  it  yourself  to  my  dear  and  widow- 
ed mother  ;  tell  her  I  revered  its  precepts,  although  I 
lacked  the  strength  of  mind  that  should  have  made  me 
hold  them  fast  and  follow  them  ;  and,  above  all,  never, 


103 

never  crush  her  bowed,  and  bruised,  and  lowly  spirit 
with  the  truth  of  all  the  weakness,  the  folly,  the  impiety, 
that  will  mingle  in  my  end  !  Tell  her  I  fell  by  sword, 
plague,  pestilence,  or  famine  ;  but  tell  her  not  I  fell  at 
a  task  my  common  sense — my  heart — my  soul,  which 
owns  its  divine  origin — revolts  from  !— tell  her  not  I 
fell  as  a  duellist — Down,  down  my  heart !  the  world 
must  be  worshipped.  My  other  books  may  be  divi- 
ded between and and ,  except  my  series 

of  Ana,  my  Hogarth,  and  Viel's  and  Bachaumont's  and 
La  Chapelle's  and  Langle's  Joumies,  and  my  Bigar- 
rures  ;  reserve  them,  with  my  Meerschaum,  to  your- 
self, and  over  them  remember  the  happy  hours  that 
you  have  spent  before  with  them  and  him  who  thanks 
you  now  for  all  your  warm-hearted  kindnesses.  In 
the  drawer  of  my  desk  will  be  found  a  portrait  and 
some  letters  ;  I  need  not  say  whose  they  are,  but  I 
entreat  you,  my  dear  Frank,  I  conjure  you,  to  take 
them  into  your  own  hands — to  let  no  other  look  upon 
them,  and  to  deliver  them  to  her  !  Gloss  the  circum- 
stances of  my  death,  and  let  the  tidings  fall  gently  on 
her  ;  but  tell  her,  amid  all  my  sins  and  all  my  follies, 
I  remembered  her,  and  loved  her,  and  her  only,  and 
more  earnestly  in  the  last  moment  of  my  life  than 
when  I  held  her  on  my  bosom.     Tell  her " 

I  had  written  thus  far  when  I  was  interrupted  by  a 
tapping  at  my  door,  and  when  I  opened  it  Frank  was 
there. 

"  Is  it  time  then  already  ?  saicl^L 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  ready. 
Come,  we  have  few  moments  to  lose." 

"The  hours  have  flown  with  strange  rapidity,"  I 
said ;  "  but  I  am  prepared.  You  spoke  to  me  last 
night  of  a  will ;  doubtless  it  was  a  necessary  precau- 
tion, and  I  thank  you  for  the  hint.  I  have  attended  to 
it,  and  have  noted  my  wishes  ;  here  is  a  memorandum 
of  them,  and  I  confide  the  execution  of  them  to  you  ; 
I  know  you  will  not  refuse  the  task." 

"  God  forbid,"  said  Frank,  taking  my  hand,  "  that 


104 

I  should  ;  but  God  forbid  that  there  should  be  occasion 
for  my  offices." 

"I  also  hope,  ray  dear  friend,"  I  replied,  "that 
there  may  be  no  such  necessity  ;  but  I  have  a  presen- 
timent (and  my  presentiments  have  seldom  boded  me 
falsely)  that  this  morning's  work  will  be  my  last." 

"Don't  say  that,  Ephraim,"  said  Frank;  "  if  I 
thought  that — but  good  God  !  how  can  I  get  you  out 
of  it?" 

"  Out  of  it !"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  you  mistake  me.  I 
cannot  prevent  my  conviction  ;  but  if  I  saw  my  grave 
dug  at  my  feet,  I  would  not  retrace  the  steps  I  have 
taken.  Come,  come,  I  am  ready ;"  and,  taking  him 
by  the  arm,  I  drew  him  from  the  room,  and  we  quitted 
the  house  silently,  and  in  a  few  minutes  were  on  the 
ground. 

On  arriving  there,  I  found  that  my  adversary  (whom 
I  had  never  seen  before)  was  beforehand  with  us ;  he 
was  a  tall,  raw,  gaunt,  muscular  fellow,  with  an 
enormous  pair  of  mustachios,  and  having  altogether 
very  much  the  appearance  of  one  of  Napoleon's  old 
sab'reurs.  We  saluted  each  other  coldly,  and  then 
turned  away,  while  the  seconds  retired  to  settle  the 
preliminaries ;  their  conference  lasted  some  time,  and 
appeared  to  bear  grievously  upon  my  adversary's  pa- 
tience, for  he  seemed  eager  to  despatch  me. 

At  last  he  addressed  them.  "  Gentlemen,"  he  said, 
"I  beg  pardon,  but  I  think  we  may  arrange  in  a  breath 
all  that  is  to  be  arranged.  First,  then,"  he  said,  speak- 
ing to  Frank,  "  do  you  choose  fifteen  or  twenty 
paces?" 

Frank  unhesitatingly  named  the  latter,  out  of  regard 
to  my  safety. 

"  Bon,"  said  the  fellow,  as  he  made  a  scratch  in 
the  turf  with  his  heel,  and  prepared  to  take  the 
distance. 

I  confess  I  was  rejoiced  at  the  thought  of  his 
measuring  it,  for  I  thought  I  perceived  an  omen  of 
salvation  in  the  length  of  his  legs  ;  in  this,  however,  I 


105 

was  disappointed,  for  the  vagabond  stepped  the  ground 
as  mincingly  as  a  lady  in  pattens. 

•'  And  dow,"  when  he  had  finished  that  part  of  the 
business,  "  and  now,"  said  he,  with  a  coolness  that 
matched  that  of  the  morning,  and  bespoke  him  terribly 
aufait  to  the  business,  ';  whose  weapons  are  we  to 
use  ?  Yours  ?  They  are  only  a  common  holster 
pair ;  mine  are  rifle-barrelled  and  hair-triggered,  and 
in  every  way  superior  to  those  machines  ;  what  say 
you  to  using  mine  ?  they'll  make  shorter  work  of  the 
business." 

;-  Xo  doubt,"  thought  I. 

"  What  say  you,  Ephraim?"  said  Frank. 

"  O,  by  all  means  ;  what  is  good  for  the  goose  is 
good  for  the  gander,"  I  answered,  with  an  attempt  at 
a  smile  ;  Frank  therefore  assented. 

"  Bon,"  said  the  fellow  again  ;  "  and  now,  for  the 
first  fire  ;  has  any  body  a  piece  of  money  about  them  ? 
Oh,  here,  I  have  one ;"  and  he  handed  it  to  his  second, 
who  flung  it  up,  and  the  result  was  in  his  favour. 

Frank  then  came  up  to  me,  and.  seizing  my  hand 
with  passionate  interest,  said  to  me,  in  a  tone  of 
agitation,  "Ephraim,  my  dear  boy.  be  of  good  cheer; 
that  hulking  blackguard*  is  evidently  trying  to  bully 
you,  but  be  of  good  cheer  ;  let  me  place  you  ;  you  are 
but  a  lath,  give  him  your  side ;  you  know  it  is  dis- 
puted whether  on  these  occasions  it  is  most  prudent 
to  give  the  front  or  the  side,  but  let  me  govern  you 
here  ;  you  are  but  a  lath,  give  him  your  side,  and  the 
devil  himself  can't  hit  you.  God  bless  you,  and  keep 
you  !"  And  so  saying,  and  again  pressing  my  hand, 
he  withdrew.  Immediately  after  which  we  placed  our- 
selves, and  the  next  instant  the  signal  was  given.  As 
soon  as  I  heard  it,  I  looked  straight  at  my  adversary, 
and  saw  him  raise  his  pistol  and  steady  it;  I  saw  him 
eye  me  with  the  keenness  of  a  hawk  and  the  precision 
of  a  master ;  it  was  but  the  fair  half-second,  but  I  knew 
and  was  certain  he  had  covered  me.  The  next  instant 
I  felt  a  blow,  as  it  were,  on  the  outside  of  my  right 
elbow,  and  a  something  like  ice  stealing  along  the  arm 


106 

as  it  dropped  nerveless  and  with  the  weight  of  lead  by 
ray  side,  and  I  heard  the  report  of  his  weapon.  I  was 
winged  clean  as  a  whistle. 

Frank  perceived  how  it  was  with  me,  and  was  by 
my  side  in  a  twinkling,  bandaging  my  arm  with  the 
handkerchief  he  tore  from  his  neck.  "  Are  you  faint, 
Ephraimj" 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  said ;  "  But  make  haste,  I  long  for 
my  revenge." 

"Is  the  gentleman  hurt?"  inquired  my  adversary, 
with  a  half-stifled  sardonic  grin. 

"  Not  a  whit,"  said  I,  and  he  bowed. 

"  Can  you  give  him  his  charge  ?"  inquired  Frank. 

61  O  never  fear,"  I  answered ;  "  let  me  have  the 
pistol."  He  handed  it  to  me  ;  I  grasped  it,  but  I  es- 
sayed in  vain  to  raise  it ;  my  right  arm  was  more  dis- 
abled than  I  thought. 

"  Try  him  with  the  left,"  said  Frank. 

I  did  so,  but  found  the  pistol  far  heavier  than  I  had 
conceived,  and  much  heavier  than  I  knew  my  own  to 
be  ;  it  was  impossible  to  level  it  with  my  left.  I  look- 
ed at  my  adversary  and  saw  his  features  relax  into  a 
damnable  Mephistopholic  grin.  I  maddened  with  un- 
speakable rage.  "  Hell  and  the  devil !"  I  exclaimed, 
"is  there  no  having  a  slap  at  the  long-legged  rascal?" 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  Frank ;  "  but,"  he  added,  with 
affectionate  warmth,  "stand  back  and  I'll  fight  his 
second  for  you." 

"  That's  out  of  the  question,"  I  replied  ;  let  me  try 
my  left  again."  I  did  so,  and  felt  convinced  the  pistol 
was  more  than  usually  heavy.  I  held  it  by  the  barrel 
and  then  I  felt  assured  the  butt  was  plugged  heavily 
with  lead.  The  thought  of  treachery  immediately 
came  across  me.  The  first  fire  won  at  his  own  call 
on  the  toss  of  a  florin  from  his  own  purse  probably, 
and  a  piece  contrived  for  these  occasions,  with  the 
same  impression  on  both  sides.  My  right  arm  shatter- 
ed certainly  by  aim,  and  his  pistol  of  a  weight  that 
prevented  all  possibility  of  its  being  levelled  with  the 


107 

left  hand ;  all  concurred  to  assure  me  I  was  the  victim 
of  a  scoundrel. 

"  But  it  shall  not  go  thus,"  I  said,  as  I  thrust  Frank 
on  one  side,  and  advanced  towards  the  villain  with  the 
cool  purpose  of  blowing  his  brains  out ;  "  it  shall  not 
go  thus!"  And  as  I  neared  him,  I  poised  the  butt  of 
the  pistol  with  my  left  hand  against  my  chest,  and  put 
my  finger  on  the  trigger  to  draw  in  his  face.  Fortu- 
nately, Frank  who  was  ignorant  of  my  suspicions, 
closed  on  me  at  the  very  critical  instant,  and  wrenched 
the  weapon  from  my  grasp,  exclaiming,  at  the  same 
time,  "  Would  you  commit  murder  ?" 

"  With  pleasure,"  I  answered,  "  upon  such  a  mur- 
derous villain  as  this  !"  But  he  was  now  secure  from 
my  fire,  and  seeing  himself  so,  and  safe  in  his  superior 
physical  strength,  he  sneered  at  me  with  such  mean 
demoniacal  insult,  that  unable  to  withold  myself  any 
longer,  I  rushed  on  him  and  grappled  with  him ;  but 
I  was  weak  from  pain  and  loss  of  blood,  and  I  fainted. 

Suddenly  I  was  aroused  by  some  one  shaking  me 
violently.  I  looked  up ;  it  was  Frank.  "  Up,  up, 
man,"  he  cried. 

"Up,"  I  said,  "for  what?" 

"  For  what,"  he  replied,  "  to  save  my  character 
and  your  own,  if  you  have  any  care  about  either. 
Why,  it  wants  but  a  quarter  to  six,  and  at  six  we 
must  be  on  the  ground." 

"  What,  have  I  not  been  shot  then  ?"  I  said. 

"  Shot !"  he  exclaimed,  "  who  the  devil  has  been 
here  to  shoot  you?     Why  you  have  been  dreaming." 

It  was  true  ;  I  had  drawn  my  table  to  my  bed-side 
to  make  my  will,  and  had  fallen  back  asleep,  and 
dreamed  what  I  have  related. 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  must  be  shot  again  ?" 

"  There's  little  fear  of  that,  thank  Heaven,"  said 
Frank,  "  for  I  have  just  learnt  that  your  adversary,  in 
alarm  at  your  prowess  has  bolted." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  as  coolly  as  I  could,  but  inwardly 
thanking  God  heartily  for  my  deliverance  from  jeop- 
ardy. 


108 

"  Yes,"  continued  Frank,  "  so  it  is  ;  but  come,  we 
must  take  our  ground,  and  give  the  vagabond  an  hour's 
law." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  I ;  and  in  five  minutes 
I  was  dressed  and  on  my  way  to  the  spot,  with  a  light- 
ed cheroot  in  my  mouth,  and  truth  to  say,  entre  nous, 
a  lighter  heart  under  my  waistcoat  than  I  think  I  should 
else  have  carried  to  the  field. 

On  the  ground  we  found  Captain  M.,  the  fellow's 
second,  who  informed  us  he  understood  his  principal 
had  taken  flight,  and  vowed  summary  vengeance  on 
him  when  and  wherever  he  should  meet  him,  for  the 
insult  he  had  offered  him  by  his  pusillanimous  con- 
duct. To  be  brief,  we  waited  one  hour,  and  my  an- 
tagonist did  not  appear.  Frank  thus  addressed  him- 
self to  his  second : — 

"  Captain  M.,"  he  said,  "  you  will  do  my  friend  the 
justice  to  say  he  has  behaved  as  becomes  a  brave  and 
and  an  honourable  man?" 

"  Most  certainly,"  said  the  Captain  ;  and  we  quit- 
ted the  ground,  and  I  proceeded  to  post  the  recreant ; 
after  which  the  Captain,  Frank,  and  I  together  took 
steaks  and  claret  for  breakfast.  And  thus  ended  "  the 
first  duel"  of  a  half-bearded  boy. 

Ephraim  Twigg. 


109 


THE  WORLD  AS  IT  IS. 


A  TALE. 


"  What  a  delightful  thing  the  world  is  !  Lady 
Lennox's  ball,  last  night — how  charming  it  was  ! — 
every  one  so  kind,  and  Charlotte  looking  so  pretty — 
the  nicest  girl  I  ever  saw  !  But  I  must  dress  now. 
Balfour  is  to  be  here  at  twelve  with  the  horse  he  wants 
to  sell  me.  How  lucky  I  am  to  have  such  a  friend  as 
Balfour  !- — so  entertaining — so  good-natured — so  devil- 
ish clever  too — and  such  an  excellent  heart !  Ah  ! 
how  unlucky  !  it  rains  a  little  ;  but  never  mind,  it  will 
clear  up  ;  and  if  it  don't — why,  there's  billiards. 
What  a  delightful  thing  the  world  is  !" 

So  soliloquized  Charles  Nugent,  a  man  of  twenty- 
one — a  philanthropist — an  optimist.  Our  young  gen- 
tleman was  an  orphan,  of  good  family  and  large  for- 
tune ;  brave,  generous,  confiding,  and  open-hearted. 
His  ability  was  above  the  ordinary  standard,  and  he 
had  a  warm  love  and  a  pure  taste  for  letters.  He  had 
even  bent  a  knee  to  Philosophy,  but  the  calm  and  cold 
graces  with  which  the  goddess  receives  her  servants 
had  soon  discontented  the  young  votary  with  the  wor- 
ship. "  Away!"  cried  he,  one  morning,  flinging  aside 
the  volume  of  La  Rochefoucault,  which  he  had  fan- 
cied he  understood  ;  "  Away  with  this  selfish  and  de- 
basing code  ! — men  are  not  the  mean  things  they  are 
here  described — be  it  mine  to  think  exultingly  of  my 
species !"  My  dear  Experience,  with  how  many  fine 
sentiments  do  you  intend  to  play  the  devil  ?  It  is  not 
without  reason  that  Goethe  tells  us,  that  though  Fate 
10 


110 

is  an  excellent,  she  is  also  a  very  expensive  schoolmis- 
tress. 

"  Ha  !  my  dear  Nugent,  how  are  you  ?"  and  Cap- 
tain Balfour  enters  the  room ;  a  fine  dark,  handsome 
fellow,  with  something  of  pretension  in  his  air  and  a 
great  deal  of  frankness.  "  And  here  is  the  horse. 
Come  to  the  window.  Does  not  he  step  finely? 
What  action!  Do  you  remark  his  forehead?  How 
he  carries  his  tail !  Gad,  I  don't  think  you  shall  have 
him,  after  all !" 

"  Nay,  my  dear  fellow,  you  may  well  be  sorry  to 
part  with  him.     He  is  superb  !     Quite  sound — eh  ?" 

"  Have  him  examined." 

"Do  you  think  I  would  not  take  your  word  for  it  ? 
The  price  ?" 

"  Fix  it  yourself.  Prince  Paul  once  offered  me  a 
hundred-and-eighty  ;  but  to  you " 

"  You  shall  have  it." 

"  No,  Nugent — say,  a  hundred-and-fifty." 

"I  won't  be  outdone — there's  a  draft  for  the  180/." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  I'm  ashamed  ;  but  you  are  such  a 
rich  fellow.  John,  take  the  horse  to  Mr.  Nugent's 
stables.  Where  will  you  dine  to-day  ? — at  the  Cocoa- 
tree  ?" 

"  With  ail  my  heart." 

The  young  men  rode  together.  Nugent  was  de- 
lighted with  his  new  purchase.  They  dined  at  the  Co- 
coa-tree. Balfour  ordered  some  early  peaches.  Nu- 
gent paid  the  Bill.     They  went  to  the  Opera. 

"  Do  you  see  that  danseuse,  Florine  ?"  asked  Bal- 
four.    "  Pretty  ancle— eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  comme  ga — but  dances  awkwardly — not 
handsome." 

"  What  ?  not  handsome  ?  Come  and  talk  to  her. 
She's  more  admired  than  any  girl  on  the  stage." 

They  went  behind  the  scenes,  and  Balfour  convin- 
ced his  friend  that  he  ought  to  be  enchanted  with  Flo- 
rine. Before  the  week  was  out  the  danseuse,  kept 
her  carriage,  and  in  return,  Nugent  supped  with  her 
twice  a-week. 


Ill 

Nugent  had  written  a  tale  for  "  The  Keepsake  ;"  it 
was  his  first  literary  effort  ;  it  was  tolerably  good  and 
exceedingly  popular.  One  day  he  was  lounging  over 
his  breakfast,  and  a  tall,  thin  gentleman,  in  black,  was 
announced,  by  the  name  of  Mr.  Gilpin. 

Mr.  Gilpin  made  a  most  respectful  bow,  and  heaved 
a  peculiar  profound  sigh.  Nugent  was  instantly  seized 
with  a  lively  interest  in  the  stranger.  "  Sir,  it  is 
with  great  regret,"  faltered  forth  Mr.  Gilpin,  "that  I 
seek  vou.  I — I — I — " — a  low,  consumptive  cough 
checked  his  speech.  Nugent  offered  him  a  cup  of  tea. 
The  civility  was  refused,  and  the  story  continued. 

Mr.  Gilpin's  narration  is  soon  told,  when  he  himself 
is  not  the  narrator.  An  unfortunate  literary  man — once 
in  affluent  circumstances — security  for  a  treacherous 
friend — friend  absconded— pressure  of  unforeseen  cir- 
cumstances— angel  wife  and  four  cherub  children — a 
book  coming  out  next  season — deep  distress  at  present 
— horror  at  being  forced  to  beg — generous  sentiments 
expressed  by  Mr.  Nugent  forcibly  struck  him — a  ray 
of  hope  broke  on  his  mind — and  voila  the  causes  of  Mr. 
Gilpin's  distress  and  Mr.  Gilpin's  visit.  Never  was 
there  a  more  interesting  personification  of  the  afflicted 
man  of  letters  than  Gregory  Gilpin.  He  looked  pale, 
patient,  and  respectable  ;  he  coughed  frequently,  and 
he  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning.  Nugent's  heart 
swelled — he  placed  a  bank-note  in  Mr.  Gilpin's  hands 
— he  promised  more  effectual  relief,  and  Mr.  Gilpin  re- 
tired, overpowered  with  his  own  gratitude  and  Mr.  Nu- 
2-ent's  respectful  compassion. 

"  How  happy  I  am  to  be  rich  !"  said  the  generous 
young  philanthropist,  throwing  open  his  chest. 

Nugent  went  to  a  conversazione  at  Lady  Lennox's. 
Her  Ladyship  was  a  widow,  and  a  charming  woman. 
She  was  a  little  of  the  blue,  and  a  little  of  the  fine  lady, 
and  a  little  of  the  beauty,  and  a  little  of  the  coquette, 
and  a  great  deal  of  the  sentimentalist.  She  had  one 
daughter,  without  a  shilling  ;  she  had  taken  a  warm 
interest  in  a  young  man  of  the  remarkable  talents  and 
amiability  of  Charles  Nugent.     He  sate  next  her— 


112 

they  talked  of  the  heartlessness  of  the  world — it  is  a 
subject  on  which  men  of  twenty-one  and  ladies  of  for- 
ty-five are  especially  eloquent.  Lady  Lennox  com- 
plained, Mr.  Nugent  defended.  "  One  does  not  talk 
much  of  innocence,"  it  is  said,  or  something  like  it  is 
said,  some  where  in  Madame  d'Epinay's  Memoirs, 
"  without  being  sadly  corrupted  ;"  and  nothing  brings 
out  the  goodness  of  our  own  hearts  more  than  a  charge 
against  the  heartlessness  of  others. 

"  An  excellent  woman  !"  thought  Nugent ;  "  what 
warm  feelings  ! — how  pretty  her  daughter  is  !  Oh  ! 
a  charming  family  !" 

Charlotte  Lennox  played  an  affecting  air;  Nugent 
leaned  over  the  piano  ;  they  talked  about  music,  poe- 
try, going  on  the  water,  sentiment,  and  Richmond  Hill. 
They  made  up  a  party  of  pleasure.  Nugent  did  not 
sleep  well  that  night — he  was  certainly  in  love. 

When  he  rose  the  next  morning,  the  day  was  bright 
and  fine  ;  Balfour,  the  best  of  friends,  was  to  be  with 
him  in  an  hour ;  Balfour's  horse,  the  best  of  horses, 
was  to  convey  him  to  Richmond  ;  and  at  Richmond 
he  was  to  meet  Lady  Lennox,  the  most  agreeable  of 
mothers — and  Charlotte,  the  most  enchanting  of  daugh- 
ters. The  danseuse  had  always  been  a  bore — she 
was  now  forgotten.  "  It  certainly  is  a  delightful 
world  !"  repeated  Nugent,  as  he  tied  his  neckcloth. 

It  was  some  time — we  will  not  say  how  long — af- 
ter the  date  of  this  happy  day  ;  Nugent  was  alone  in 
his  apartment,  and  walking  to  and  fro — his  arms  fold- 
ed, and  a  frown  upon  his  brow.  "  What  a  rascal  ! 
what  a  mean  wretch  ! — and  the  horse  was  lame  when 
he  sold  it — not  worth  ten  pounds! — and  I  so  con- 
fiding— damn  my  folly !  That,  however,  I  should 
not  mind  ;  but  to  have  saddled  me  with  his  cast-off 
mistress ! — to  make  me  the  laughing-stock  of  the  world! 
By  heavens,  he  shall  repent  it !  Borrowed  money  of 
me,  then  made  a  jest  of  my  good-nature  ! — introduced 
me  to  his  club,  in  order  to  pillage  me ! — but,  thank 
God,  thank  God,  I  can  shoot  him  vet !  Ha !  Colonel ; 
this  is  kind  !" 


113 

Colonel  Nelmore,  an  elderly  gentleman,  well  known 
in  society,  with  a  fine  forehead,  a  shrewd,  contempla- 
tive eye,  and  an  agreeable  address,  entered  the  room. 
To  him  Nugent  poured  forth  the  long  list  of  his  griev- 
ances, and  concluded  by  begging  him  to  convey  a 
challenge  to  the  best  of  friends — Captain  Balfour. 
The  colonel  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  But, — my  dear  Sir, — this  gentleman  has  certainly 
behaved  ill  to  you,  I  allow  it — but  for  what  specific 
offence  do  you  mean  to  challenge  him  ?" 

"  For  his  conduct  in  general." 

The  Colonel  laughed. 

"  For  saying  yesterday,  then,  that  I  was  grown  a 
d — d  bore,  and  he  should  cut  me  in  future.  He  told 
Selwyn  so  in  the  bow-window  at  White's." 

The  Colonel  took  snuff. 

"  My  good  young  friend,"  said  he,  "  I  see  you  don't 
know  the  world.  Come  and  dine  with  me  to-day — 
a  punctual  seven.  We'll  talk  over  these  matters.  Mean- 
while, you  can't  challenge  a  man  for  calling  you  a 
bore." 

"Not  challenge  him  ! — what  should  I  do  then?" 

"  Laugh — shake  your  head  at  him,  and  say — 'Ah  ! 
Balfour,  you're  a  sad  fellow  !'  " 

The  Colonel  succeeded  in  preventing  the  challenge, 
but  Nugent's  indignation  at  the  best  of  friends  remain- 
ed as  warm  as  ever.  He  declined  the  Colonel's  invi- 
tation— he  was  to  dine  with  the  Lennox's.  Mean- 
while, he  went  to  the  shady  part  of  Kensington  Gar- 
dens to  indulge  his  reflections. 

He  sat  himself  down  in  an  arbour,  and  looked  mo- 
ralizingly  over  the  initials,  the  dates,  and  the  witticisms, 
that  hands,  long  since  mouldering,  have  consigned  to 
the  admiration  of  posterity. 

A  gay  party  were  strolling  by  this  retreat— their 
laughter  preceded  them.  "  Yes,"  said  a  sharp,  dry- 
voice,  which  Nugent  recognized  as  belonging  to  one 
of  the  wits  of  the  day — "  Yes,  I  saw  you,  Lady  Len- 
nox, talking  sentiment  to  Nugent — fie !  how  could  you 
waste  your  time  so  unprofitably !" 
10* 


114 

"  Ah  !  poor  young  man  !  he  is  certainly  Men  bete, 
with  his  fine  phrases  and  so  forth :  but  'tis  a  good  crea- 
ture on  the  whole,  and  exceedingly  useful !" 

m  Useful !" 

"  Yes  ;  fills  up  a  vacant  place  at  one's  table,  at  a 
day's  warning  ;  lends  me  his  carriage-horses  when 
mine  have  caught  cold  ;  subscribes  to  my  charities  for 
me ;  and  supplies  the  drawing-room  with  flowers.  In 
a  word,  if  he  were  more  sensible,  he  would  be  less 
agreeable :  his  sole  charm  is  his  foibles." 

Proh,  Jupiter !  what  a  description  from  the  most 
sentimental  of  mothers  of  the  most  talented,  the  most 
interesting  of  young  men.  Nugent  was  thunderstruck ; 
the  party  swept  by  ;  he  was  undiscovered. 

He  raved,  he  swore,  he  was  furious.  He  go  to  din- 
ner to-day  !  No,  he  would  write  such  a  letter  to  the 
lady — it  should  speak  daggers  !  But  the  daughter  : 
Charlotte  was  not  of  the  party.  Charlotte — oh  ! 
Charlotte  was  quite  a  different  creature  from  her  mo- 
ther— the  most  natural,  the  most  simple  of  human  be- 
ings, and  evidently  loved  him.  He  could  not  be  mis- 
taken there.  Yes,  for  her  sake  he  would  go  to  the 
dinner;  he  would  smother  his  just  resentment. 

He  went  to  Lady  Lennox's.  It  was  a  large  party. 
The  young  Marquis  of  Austerly  had  just  returned 
from  his  travels.  He  was  sitting  next  to  the  most  love- 
ly of  daughters.     Nugent  was  forgotten. 

After  dinner,  however,  he  found  an  opportunity  to 
say  a  few  words  in  a  whisper  to  Charlotte.  He  hint- 
ed a  tender  reproach,  and  he  begged  her  to  sing  "  We 
met  ;  'twas  in  a  crowd."  Charlotte  was  hoarse — 
had  caught  cold.  Charlotte  could  not  sing.  Nugent 
left  the  room.  When  he  got  to  the  end  of  the  street, 
he  discovered  that  he  had  left  his  cane  behind.  He 
went  back  for  it,  glad  (for  he  was  really  in  love)  of  an 
excuse  for  darting  an  angry  glance  at  the  most  simple, 
the  most  natural  of  human  beings,  that  should  prevent 
her  sleeping  the  whole  night.  He  ascended  the  draw- 
ing-room ;  and  Charlotte  was  delighting  the  Marquis 
of  Austerly,  who  leaned  over  her  chair,  with  "  We 
met ;  'twas  in  a  crowd." 


115 

Charlotte  Lennox  was  young,  lovely,  and  artful. 
Lord  Austerly  was  young,  inexperienced,  and  vain. 
In  less  than  a  month,  he  proposed,  and  was  accepted. 

"  Well,  well  !"  said  poor  Nugent  one  morning, 
breaking  from  a  reverie;  "  betrayed  in  my  friendship, 
deceived  in  my  love,  the  pleasure  of  doing  good  is  still 
left  to  me.  Friendship  quits  us  at  the  first  stage  of 
life,  Love  at  the  second,  Benevolence  lasts  till  death  ! 
Poor  Gilpin  !  how  grateful  he  is :  I  must  see  if  I  can 
get  him  that  place  abroad."  To  amuse  his  thoughts, 
he  took  up  a  new  magazine.  He  opened  the  page  at 
a  violent  attack  on  himself — on  his  beautiful  tale  in  the 
"  Keepsake."  The  satire  was  not  confined  to  the 
work  ;  it  extended  to  the  author.  He  was  a  fop,  a 
coxcomb,  a  ninny,  an  intellectual  dwarf,  a  miserable 
creature,  and  an  abortion.  These  are  pleasant  studies 
for  a  man  out  of  spirits,  especially  before  he  is  used  to 
them.  Nugent  had  just  flung  the  magazine  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  when  his  lawyer  came  to  ar- 
range matters  about  a  mortgage,  which  the  generous 
Nugent  had  already  been  forced  to  raise  on  his  estates. 
The  lawyer  was  a  pleasant,  entertaining  man  o(  the 
world,  accustomed  to  the  society,  for  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  the  wants  of  young  men.  He  perceived  Nu- 
gent was  a  little  out  of  humour.  He  attributed  the 
cause,  naturally  enough,  to  the  mortgage ;  and  to  di- 
vert his  thoughts,  he  entered  first  on  a  general  conver- 
sation. 

"What  rogues  there  are  in  the  world!"    said  he. 

Nugent  groaned. 

"  This  morning,  for  instance,  before  I  came  to  you, 
I  was  engaged  in  a  curious  piece  of  business  enough. 
A  gentleman  gave  his  son-in-law  a  qualification  to 
stand  for  a  borough :  the  son-in-law  kept  the  deed,  and 
so  cheated  the  good  gentleman  out  of  more  than  300/. 
a-year.  Yesterday  I  was  employed  against  a  fraudu- 
lent bankrupt — such  an  instance  of  long,  premeditated, 
cold-hearted,  deliberate  rascality  !  And  when  I  leave 
you^  I  must  see  what  is  to  be  done  with  a  literary 
swindler,  who,  on  the  strength  of  a  consumptive  cough, 


116 

and  a  suit  of  black,  has  been  respectably  living  on  com- 
passion for  the  last  two  years." 

"Ha!" 

"  He  has  just  committed  the  most  nefarious  fraud — 
a  forgery,  in  short,  on  his  own  uncle,  who  has  twice 
seriously  distressed  himself  to  save  the  rogue  of  a  ne- 
phew, and  who  must  now  submit  to  this  loss,  or  pro- 
claim, by  a  criminal  prosecution,  the  disgrace  of  his 
own  family.  The  nephew  proceeded,  of  course,  on 
his  knowledge  of  my  client's  goodness  of  heart ;  and 
thus  a  man  suffers  in  proportion  to  his  amiability." 

"  Is  his  name  Gil — Gil — Gilpin  !"  stammered  Nu- 
gent. 

"  The  same  !  O-ho  !  have  you  been  bit,  too,  Mr. 
Nugent?" 

Before  our  hero  could  answer,  a  letter  was  brought 
to  him.  Nugent  tore  the  seal:  it  was  from  the  edi- 
tor of  the  magazine  in  which  he  has  just  read  his  own 
condemnation.     It  ran  thus  : — 

"  Sir, — Having  been  absent  from  London  on  una- 
voidable business  for  the  last  month,  and  the  care  of 

the Magazine  having  thereby  devolved  on  another, 

who  has  very  ill  discharged  its  duties,  I  had  the  sur- 
prise and  mortification  of  perceiving,  on  my  return 
this  day,  that  a  most  unwarrantable  and  personal  at- 
tack upon  you  has  been  admitted  in  the  number  for 
this  month.  I  cannot  sufficiently  express  my  regret, 
the  more  especially  on  finding  that  the  article  in  ques- 
tion was  written  by  a  mere  mercenary  in  letters.  To 
convince  you  of  my  concern,  and  my  resolution  to 
guard  against  such  unworthy  proceedings  in  future,  I 
enclose  you  another,  and  yet  severer  attack,  which 
was  sent  to  us  for  our  next  number,  and  for  which,  I 
grieve  to  say,  the  unprincipled  author  has  already  suc- 
ceeded in  obtaining  from  the  proprietors — a  remune- 
ration," &c.  &c.  &c. 

Nugent's  eyes  fell  on  the  enclosed  paper  :  it  was 
in  the  hand-writing  of  Mr.  Gregory  Gilpin,  the  most 
grateful  of  distressed  literary  men. 

"  You  seem  melancholy  to-day,  my  dear  Nugent," 


117 

said  Colonel  Nelmore,  as  he  met  his  young  friend 
walking  with  downcast  eyes  on  the  old  mall  of  St. 
James's  Park, 

"  I  am  unhappy,  I  am  discontented  ;  the  gloss  is 
faded  from  life,''  answered  Nugent,  sighing. 

"  I  love  meeting  with  a  pensive  man,"  said  the 
Colonel :  "  let  me  join  you,  and  let  us  dine  together, 
tete-a-tete,  at  my  bachelor's  house.  You  refused  me 
some  time  ago  ;  may  1  be  more  fortunate  now?" 

"  I  shall  be  but  poor  company,"  rejoined  Nugent; 
"but  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  and  I  accept 
your  invitation  with  pleasure." 

Colonel  Nelmore  was  a  man  who  had  told  some 
fifty  years.  He  had  known  misfortune  in  his  day, 
and  he  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  harsh  realities  of 
life.  But  he  had  not  suffered  nor  lived  in  vain.  He 
was  no  theorist,  and  did  not  affect  the  philosopher  ; 
but  he  was  contented  with  a  small  fortune,  popular 
with  retired  habits,  observant  with  a  love  for  study, 
and,  above  all,  he  did  a  great  deal  of  general  good,  ex- 
actly because  he  embraced  no  particular  system. 

"Yes,"  said  Nugent,  as  they  sat  together  after  din- 
ner, and  the  younger  man  had  unbosomed  to  the  elder, 
who  had  been  his  father's  most  intimate  friend,  all  that 
had  seemed  to  him  the  most  unexampled  of  misfor- 
tunes— after  he  had  repeated  the  perfidies  of  Balfour, 
the  faithlessness  of  Charlotte,  and  the  rascalities  of 
Gilpin — "  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  now  see  my  error;  I  no 
longer  love  my  species  ;  I  no  longer  place  reliance  in 
the  love,  friendship,  sincerity,  or  virtue  of  the  world ; 
I  will  no  longer  trust  myself  open-hearted  in  this  vast 
community  of  knaves  ;  I  will  not  fly  mankind,  but  I 
will  despise  them." 

The  Colonel  smiled.  "You  shall  put  on  your  hat, 
my  young  friend,  and  pay  a  little  visit  with  me  : — nay, 
no  excuse  ;  it  is  only  an  old  lady,  who  has  given  me 
permission  to  drink  tea  with  her."  Nugent  demur- 
red, but  consented.  The  two  gentlemen  walked  to  a 
small  house  in  the  Regent's  Park.  They  were  admit- 
ted to  a  drawing-room,  where  they  found  a  blind  old 


118 

lady,   of  a  cheerful   countenance  and  prepossessing 
manners. 

"And  how  does  your  son  do?"  asked  the  Colonel, 
after  the  first  salutations  were  over,  "have  you  seen 
him  lately  ?" 

"  Seen  him  lately  !  why  you  know  he  rarely  lets  a 
day  pass  without  calling  on  or  writing  to  me.  Since 
the  affliction  which  visited  me  with  blindness,  though 
he  has  nothing  to  hope  from  me,  though  from  my 
jointure  I  must  necessarily  be  a  burthen  to  one  of  his 
limited  income  and  mixing  so  much  with  the  world 
as  he  does ;  yet  had  I  been  the  richest  mother  in 
England,  and  everything  at  my  disposal,  he  could  not 
have  been  more  attentive,  more  kind  to  me.  He  will 
cheerfully  give  up  the  gayest  party  to  come  and  read 
to  me,  if  I  am  the  least  unwell,  or  the  least  out  of  spi- 
rits ;  and  he  sold  his  horses  to  pay  Miss  Blandly, 
since  I  could  not  afford  from  my  own  income  to  pay  the 
salary,  so  accomplished  a  musician  asked  to  become 
my  companion.  Music,  you  know,  is  now  my  chief 
luxury.  Oh,  he  is  a  paragon  of  sons — the  world 
think  him  dissipated  and  heartless  ;  but  if  they  could 
see  how  tender  he  is  to  me  !"  exclaimed  the  mother, 
clasping  her  hands,  as  the  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes. 
Nugent  was  charmed :  the  Colonel  encouraged  the  la- 
dy to  proceed  ;  and  Nugent  thought  he  had  never  pass- 
ed a  more  agreeable  hour  than  in  listening  to  her  ma- 
ternal praises  of  her  affectionate  son. 

"  Ah,  Colonel  !"  said  he,  as  they  left  the  house, 
"  how  much  wiser  have  you  been  than  myself;  you 
have  selected  your  friends  with  discretion.  What 
would  not  I  give  to  possess  such  a  friend  as  that  good 
son  must  be  !  But  you  never  told  me  the  lady's 
name." 

"  Patience,"  said  the  Colonel,  taking  snuff,  "  I  have 
another  visit  to  pay." 

Nelmore  turned  down  a  little  alley,  and  knocked  at 
a  small  cottage.  A  woman  with  a  child  at  her  breast 
opened  the  door ;  and  Nugent  stood  in  one  of  those 
scenes  of  cheerful  poverty  which  it  so  satisfies  the 
complacency  of  the  rich  to  behold. 


119 

"  Aha  !"  said  Xelmore,  looking  round,  "  you 
seem  comfortable  enough  now  ;  your  benefactor  has 
not  done  his  work  by  halves." 

"  Blessings  on  his  heart,  no  !  Oh,  Sir,  when  I 
think  how  distressed  he  is  himself,  how  often  he  has 
been  put  *o  it  for  money,  how  calumniated  he  is  by 
the  world.  I  cannot  express  how  grateful  I  am,  how 
grateful  I  ought  to  be.  He  has  robbed  himself  to  feed 
us,  and  merely  because  he  knew  my  husband  in 
youth." 

The  Colonel  permitted  the  woman  to  run  on.  Xu- 
gent  wiped  his  eyes,  and  left  his  purse  behind  him. 
"  Who  is  this  admirable,  this  self-denying  man  V 
cried  he,  when  they  were  once  more  in  the  street. 
"  He  is  in  distress  himself — would  I  could  relieve  him  ! 
Ah,  you  already  reconcile  me  to  the  world.  I  ackow- 
ledge  your  motive,  in  leading  me  hither  ;  there  are 
good  men  as  well  as  bad.  All  are  not  Balfours  and 
Gilpins  !  But  the  name — the  name  of  these  poor  peo- 
ple's benefactor!" 

"Stay,"  said  the  Colonel,  as  they  now  entered  Ox- 
ford-street ;  "  this  is  lucky  indeed,  I  see  a  good  lady 
whom  I  wish  to  accost."  "  Well,  Mrs.  Johnson," 
addressing-  a  stout,  comely,  middle-aged  woman  of  re- 
spectable appearance,  who,  with  a  basket  on  her  arm, 
was  coming  out  of  an  oil-shop;  "  so  you  have  been 
labouring  in  your  vocation  I  see — making  household 
purchases.     And  how  is  your  young  lady  V 

"  Very  well,  Sir,  I  am  happy  to  say,"  replied  the 
woman,  curtsevingr.  "  And  vou  are  well  too,  I  hope, 
Sir." 

"Yes,  considering  the  dissipation  of  the  long  sea- 
son, pretty  well,  thank  you.  But  I  suppose  your 
young  mistress  is  as  gay  and  heartless  as  ever — a 
mere  fashionable  wife,  eh  !" 

"Sir!"  said  the  woman,  bridling  up,  "there  is 
not  a  better  lady  in  the  world  than  my  young  lady;  I 
have  known  her  since  she  was  that  high  !" 

"What,  she's  good-tempered,  I  suppose?"  said 
the  Colonel  sneering. 


lZ\J 

"  Good-tempered — I  believe  it  is  impossible  for  her 
to  say  a  harsh  word  to  any  one.  There  never  was  so 
mild,"  so  even-like  a  temper." 

"  What,  and  not  heartless,  eh  !  this  is  too  good  i" 

"  Heartless  !  she  nursed  me  herself  when  I  broke 
my  leg  coming  up-stairs ;  and  every  night  before  she 
went  to  bed  would  come  into  my  room  with  her  sweet 
smile,  and  see  if  I  wanted  anything." 

"And  you  fancy,  Mrs.  Johnson,  that  she'll  make 
a  good  wife  :  why  she  was  not  much  in  love  when 
she  married." 

"I  don't  know  as  to  that,  Sir,  whether  she  was  or 
not ;  but  I'm  sure  she  is  always  studying  my  Lord's 
wishes,  and  I  heard  him  myself  say  this  very  morn 
ing  to  his  brother — '  Arthur,  if  you  knew  what  a  trea- 
sure I  possess.'  " 

"  You  are  very  right,"  said  the  Colonel,  resuming 
his  natural  manner  ;  "  and  I  only  spoke  for  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  how  well  and  how  justly  you  could  defend 
your  mistress  :  she  is,  truly,  an  excellent  lady — good 
evening  to  you." 

"I  have  seen  that  woman  before,"  said  Nugent, 
"  but  I  can't  think  where  ;  she  has  the  appearance  of 
being  a  housekeeper  in  some  family." 

"  She  is  so." 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  to  hear  of  female  excellence 
in  the  great  world,"  continued  Nugent,  sighing ;  k'  it 
was  evident  to  see  the  honest  servant  was  sincere  in 
her  praise.     Happy  husband,  whoever  he  may  be  !" 

They  were  now  at  the  Colonel's  house.  "Just 
let  me  read  this  passage,"  said  Nelmore,  opening  the 
pages  of  a  French  Philosopher,  and  as  I  do  not  pro- 
nounce French  like  a  native,  I  will  translate  as  I  pro- 
ceed. 

"  In  order  to  love  mankind — expect  but  little  from 
them  ;  in  order  to  view  their  faults,  without  bitterness, 
we  must  accustom  ourselves  to  pardon  them,  and  to 
perceive  that  indulgence  is  a  justice  which  frail  hu- 
manity has  a  right  to  demand  from  wisdom.  Now 
nothing  tends  more  to  dispose  us  to  indulgence,  to 


121 

close  our  hearts  against  hatred,  to  open  them  to  the 
principles  of  a  humane  and  soft  morality,  than  a  pro- 
found knowledge  of  the  human  heart — that  knowledge 
which  La  Rochetbucault  possessed.  Accordingly, 
the  wisest  men  have  always  been  the  most  indulgent,*' 
&c.     . 

"  And  now  prepare  to  be  surprised.  That  good  son 
whom  you  admired  so  much — whom  you  wished  you 
could  obtain  as  a  friend,  is  Captain  Balfour — that  gen- 
erous, self-denying  man.  whom  you  desired  yourself 
so  nobly  to  relieve,  is  Mr.  Gilpin — that  young  lady 
who  in' the  flush  of  health,  beauty,  dissipation,  and 
conquest,  could  attend  the  sick  chamber  of  her  servant, 
and  whom  her  husband  discovers  to  be  a  treasure,  is 
Charlotte  Lennox  !" 

«•  Good  Heavens  !"  cried  Nugent,  "  what  then  am 
I  to  believe?  has  some  juggling  been  practised  on  my 
understanding,  and  are  Balfour,  Gilpin,  and  Miss  Len- 
nox, after  all,  patterns  of  perfection?" 

"  No,  indeed,  very  far  from  it :  Balfour  is  a  dissi- 
pated, reckless  man — of  loose  morality  and  a  low  stan- 
dard of  honour ;  he  saw  you  were  destined  to  purchase 
experience — he  saw  you  were  destined  to  be  plunder- 
ed by  some  one — he  thought  he  might  as  well  be  a 
candidate  for  the  profit.  He  laughed  afterwards  at 
your  expense — not  because  he  despised  you  ;  on  the 
contrary,  I  believe  that  he  liked  you  very  much  in  his 
way,  but  because  in  the  world  he  lives  in,  every  man 
enjoys  a  laugh  at  his  acquaintance.  Charlotte  Lennox 
saw  in  you  a  desirable  match ;  nay,  I  believe  she  had 
a  positive  regard  for  you  ;  but  she  had  been  taught  all 
her  life  to  think  equipage,  wealth,  and  station  better 
than  love.  She  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  be- 
ing Marchioness  of  Austerly — not  one  girl  in  twenty 
could ;  yet  she  is  not  on  that  account  the  less  good- 
tempered,  good-natured,  or  less  likely  to  be  a  good 
mistress  and  a  tolerable  wife.  Gilpin  is  the  worst  in- 
stance of  the  three.  Gilpin  is  an  evident  scoundrel ; 
but  Gilpin  is  in  evident  distress.  He  was  in  all  pro- 
bability very  sorry  to  attack  vou  who  had  benefited 
11   * 


122 

him  so  largely ;  but  perhaps,  as  he  is  a  dull  dog,  the 
only  thing  the  Magazines  would  buy  of  him  was  abuse. 
You  must  not  think  he  maligned  you  out  of  malice, 
out  of  ingratitude,  out  of  wantonness  ;  he  maligned 
you  for  ten  guineas.  Yet  Gilpin  is  a  man,  who,  hav- 
ing swindled  his  father  out  of  ten  guineas,  would,  in 
the  joy  of  the  moment  give  five  to  a  beggar.  In  the 
present  case  he  was  actuated  by  abetter  feeling;  he 
was  serving  the  friend  of  his  childhood — few  men 
forget  those  youthful  ties,  however  they  trample  on 
others.  Your  mistake  was  not  the  single  mistake 
of  supposing  the  worst  people  the  best — it  was  the 
double  mistake  of  supposing  common-place  people — 
now  the  best — now  the  worst ; — in  making  what  might 
have  been  a  pleasant  acquaintance  an  intimate  friend ; 
in  believing  a  man  in  distress  must  necessarily  be  a 
man  of  merit;  in  thinking  a  good-tempered,  pretty  girl, 
was  an  exalted  specimen  of  Human  Nature.  You 
were  then  about  to  fall  into  the  opposite  extreme — and 
to  be  as  indiscriminating  in  suspicion  as  you  were  in 
credulity.  Would  that  I  could  flatter  myself,  that  I 
had  saved  you  from  that — the  more  dangerous  error 
of  the  two!" 

"  You  have — my  dear  Nelmore  ;  and  now  lend  me 
your  Philosopher  !" 

"  With  pleasure;  but  one  short  maxim  is  as  good 
as  all  Philosophers  can  teach  you,  for  Philosophers 
can  only  enlarge  on  it — it  is  simple — it  is  this — «  take 

Mitio. 


123 


A  MISS-DIRECTED  LETTER. 


[By  a  very  extraordinary  accident,  arising  perhaps 
from  the  circumstance  of  an  interregnum  in  the  Post 
Office  department,  the  following  letter,  evidently  in- 
tended for  somebody  else,  has  been  delivered  at  the 
office  of  the  "  New  Monthly  Magazine."  The  direc- 
tion reads  as  if  it  were  meant  for  Mr.  Colburn,  but  it  is 
certain,  that  although  his  Christian  name  be  Henry,  no- 
body would  address  as  "  Dear  Henriette  ;"  besides 
which,  it  would  be  a  work  of  supererogation  to  write  an 
account  of  what  is  going  on  in  England  to  the  proprietor 
of  the  "  Court  Journal."  The  fact  appears  to  be,  that  the 
letter  is  the  fulfilment  of  a  promise  on  the  part  of  some 
French  Nobleman  or  Gentleman — they  are  all  Counts  in 
the  indictment  of  letters — to  give  some  chere  amie  a  de- 
tail of  his  proceedings  in  the  English  metropolis.  As  it 
has  fairly  been  delivered  in  Marlborough-street,  we 
make  no  ceremony  in  using  it ;  the  signature  is 
scarcely  legible — it  looks  something  like  "  Pickle  and 
Mustard.''''  We  were,  however,  not  sufficiently  in- 
terested in  the  result,  to  send  for  either  Mr.  Wilkinson 
or  Mr.  Pettigrew  to  decipher  it ;  as  we  have  it,  so  have 
our  readers."] 


London,  June  16,  1834. 
My  dear  Henriette, — According  to  my  promise,  I  sit 
down  to  give  you  news  of  myself,  again  in  this  dull  city, 
which  its  dull  inhabitants  fancy  one  of  the  loveliest  spots 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  just  as  a  toad,  hermetically 
sealed   in  a  block  of  stone,  believes  his  sitting-room 


124 

extremely  convenient.  People  like  the  English,  who 
eat  so  much  solid  food,  and  drink  port  wine  and  porter, 
have  but  a  very  cloudy  notion  of  the  volatility  and  volu- 
bility which  light  food,  light  wine,  and  a  clear  sky  na- 
turally inspire.  I  cannot  for  myself  endure  the  mise- 
rable, smoky,  brick  houses,  ranged  like  so  many  dens 
along  the  streets,  into  which  their  windows  give  light ; 
and  in  London  there  are  not  a  dozen  inclosed  or  in- 
sulated houses. 

Burlington  House  is  one — it  is  deserted.  Devon- 
shire House  is  another — But  our  charming  Duke  is 
not  yet  in  town.  The  Duke  of  Portland's,  in  Caven- 
dish-square, is  a  third-— but  he  is  gone  to  Lisbon  with 
his  daughter,  Lady  Howard  de  Walden,  who  has  taken 
her  departure  to  join  her  husband,  who  has  most  fa- 
vourably distinguished  himself  as  a  diplomatist.  Roke- 
by,  the  agreeable  Edward  Montague,  (of  whom  I  used 
once  to  be  jealous,)  has  a  fourth,  at  the  corner  of  Port- 
man-square  ;  a  house  altogether  in  a  garden,  in  which 
I  am  told,  formerly  the  chimney-sweepers  were  wont 
to  banquet  on  May-day  ;  the  present  appearance  of  the 
building  gives  one  every  reason  to  believe  that  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  leaving  the  contents  of  their  soot- 
bags  on  the  premises  before  they  retired. 

Lord  Lansdowne's  is  another  good  specimen  of  a 
garden  house,  and  he  has  hit  upon  a  mode  of  lighting 
a  saloon  new  to  me,  and  quite  delightful;  the  lamps 
are  placed  outside  of  large  plate-glass  fan-lights,  so  that 
you  have  all  the  illumination  and  none  of  the  caloric. 
Lord  Chesterfield's  is  another  such  house,  but  much 
unemployed.  Dorchester  House  is  another,  but  Lord 
Hertford,  in  consequence  of  the  recent  death  of  the 
dowager  Marchioness,  has  not  yet  blazed  forth  in  his 
accustomed  splendour.  I  was  making  an  observation 
upon  the  want  of  fine  hotels  in  London,  to  a  wit  here, 
and  said  to  him  as  I  have  said  to  you,  that  there  were 
not  above  a  dozen  houses  in  the  town,  entre  cour  et 
jardin.  Said  he,  1  will  show  you  one  more  than  you 
have  reckoned,  and  that  is  a  bookseller's  shop  at  the 
corner  of  Bow-street.     How,  said  I,  can  that  be  entre 


125 

coin-  et  jardin?  "-Because,"  said  he,  "  it  is  between 
Man\eix-court  and  C  event- gar  den." 

Although  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  admire  London, 

I  must  admit  that  I  am  extremely  well  received — ab- 
solutely feted.  The  women  of  this  country  have  a 
decided  affection  for  foreigners,  and  give  the  strong- 
est possible  practical  proofs  of  distaste  for  their  heavy, 
plodding,  slumbering  husbands  and  fathers,  and  clus- 
ter round  an  exotic  Tike  bees  about  a  rose-bush.  Still 
Henriette,  dear  Henriette,  you  are  secure  ;  my  affec- 
tions are  not  to  be  warped  or  influenced  by   these 

II  agitating  attacks."  I  like  to  see  the  world,  and  hav- 
ing as  you  know  and  they  do  not,  but  limited  means, 
I  endure  these  oppressive  attentions  in  order  to  gratify 
my  propensity  for  inquiry  upon  the  most  reasonable 
terms  ;  not  to  speak  of  the  advantages  derivable  to  me 
from  an  unrestricted  intercourse  with  all  classes  of  so- 
ciety in  the  communications  which  I  am  able  to  make 
to  our  friend  De  M.,  as  to  affairs  in  general,  for  which, 
I  ought  to  tell  you,  he  has  at  last  agreed  to  increase 
my  remuneration.  Hating  the  English  character  as  I 
do,  it  is  quite  glorious  so  voluptuously  to  forage  upon 
the  enemy. 

You  will  perceive  that  I  am  "  Count"  in  this 
country — the  ladies  and  the  newspapers  have  given 
me  this  brevet ;  as  it  is  not  the  fashon  in  England  to 
appear  decore,  my  having  no  kind  of  order  does  not 
appear  so  remarkable  here  as  it  does  on  the  continent. 
I  have  got  the  smallest  possible  lodgings,  in  Duke- 
street,  St.  James's  ;  but  I  live  entirely  on  the  world, 
which  delights  to  natter  and  feed  me  ;  and  having  got 
my  name  into  a  club  which  admits  "  distinguished 
foreigners"  as  honorary  members  gratis,  I  breakfast 
there  upon  their  wretched  tea,  with  blue  milk  and 
yellow  eggs,  which,  with  all  my  love  of  country,  do 
not  endear  themselves  to  me  by  the  fact  of  their  having 
been  laid  at  least  three  months  before,  in  France.  Of 
coffee,  the  deluded  people  have  as  much  idea  as  they 
have  of  conversation. 

Every  day  brings  its  engagements  ;  indeed,  if  I  were 
11* 


126 

to  attempt  to  describe  all  that  I  see  and  hear,  I  should 
fill  a  volume  per  week.  However,  I  have  attained 
the  highest  point,  for  I  have  dined  with  the  King — a 
circumstance  which  never  would  have  happened  to  me 
in  my  own  country,  if  I  had  lived  to  the  age  of  Methu- 
selah. His  Majesty  conducted  himself  exactly  as  any 
English  gentleman  would — gave  toasts  in  the  national 
manner — and  made  speeches.  He  is  just  now  ex- 
tremely popular  with  the  country,  on  account  of  an 
address  which  he  delivered  extempore  to  the  Bishops, 
expressive  of  his  royal  determination  to  uphold  the  rights 
of  the  Church.  To  show  you,  however,  how  small  the 
official  power  of  an  English  Monarch  is,  I  need  only 
tell  you,  that  within  eight-and-forty  hours  of  the  King's 
having  expressed  this  solemn  resolution,  in  the  most 
solemn  manner,  his  ministers  issued  what  they  call 
here  a  commission  (and  by  which  the  whole  govern- 
ment of  this  country  is  now  carried  on)  to  inquire  into 
the  state  of  the  Church  revenues,  with  a  view  to  ap- 
propriate them  to  lay  purposes  ;  and  yesterday,  Lord 
Grey  appointed  a  Colonel  Hay  to  some  high  official 
situation,  who,  in  Parliament,  not  three  months  since, 
proposed  the  expulsion  of  the  Bishops  from  Parlia- 
ment. 

1  was  at  both  Lady  Mansfield's  parties  on  two  fol- 
lowing Thursdays,  both  extremely  full  and  extremely 
hot,  but  extremely  agreeable  ;  and  our  excellent  friend 

De has  taken  me  two  or  three  times  to  Lady 

Salisbury's  Sunday  conversazione,  where  whist  is  ad- 
mitted— after  midnight,  1  believe. 

At  Almack's,  I  am  in  my  element — all  my  most 
absurd- jumps  and  pirouettes,  at  which  you  and  my 
poor  aunt  used  to  laugh,  come  into  play  here,  as  grace 
and  activity ;  and  the  poor  dowdy  girls  who  jump  and 
bump  themselves  about  the  room  till  they  shake  their 
curls  into  bell-ropes,  vow  that,  except  Shandor  or  Fla- 
hault,  or  some  other  half-dozen,  they  never  saw  any- 
thing so  perfect  as  my  performances. 

Their  Opera  here  is  occasionally  good,  but  it  might 
be  much  better  and  please  them  no  more,  it  might  be 


ML 


127 

much  worse  and  please  them  just  as  well ;  they  care 
nothing  for  the  performance — not  one  in  a  hundred 
comprehends  a  syllable  of  the  language ;  and  as  for 
music,  they  are  told  by  their  masters,  or  some  ex- 
tremely learned  friend,  or  by — what  they  rely  on  most 
of  all — the  newspapers,  that  such  a  man  is  a  magnifi- 
cent singer,  such  a  woman  a  delightful  dancer — that 
one  composer  is  divine,  and  that  another  composer  is 
odious  ;  and  accordingly  they  wriggle  and  twist  them- 
selves about  in  order  to  affect  ecstacies,  and  turn  up 
their  eyes  with  delight,  and  their  noses  with  contempt, 
under  the  direction  of  their  leading  journals. 

The  theatres  are  below  criticism.  Shakspeare, 
who  after  Moliere,  Racine,  and  a  few  other  French 
writers,  is  perhaps  the  best  of  the  play-makers,  is 
never  acted  unless  to  introduce  a  concert  or  a  corona- 
tion :  the  comic  authors  are  equally  neglected ;  and 
the  great  theatres,  as  they  call  them,  are  devoted  to 
ballets,  masquerades,  tumbling,  and  horsemanship. 
Nobody,  however,  goes — at  least  I  know  nobody  that 
does.  I  went  once  and  acted  in  masque,  and  had  my 
pocket  picked — to  be  sure  I  did  not  lose  much ;  but 
the  idea  of  the  thing  was  enough. 

Fish  dinners,  at  two  places — Grinitch  and  Blackhole, 
I  think  they  are  called — are  the  fashion  just  now.  I 
was  at  one  only  three  days  since  ;  it  is  an  excessively 
comical  proceeding.  A  party  of  people  get  into  a  boat 
— or  carriages  if  you  like — and  go  away  from  their 
comfortable  homes  to  an  inn  whos  windows  project 
over  a  huge  bed  of  ill-smelling  mud,  and  where  little 
dirty  bare-legged  boys  puddle  and  tumble  for  money 
— the  sun  glaring  in  from  the  water,  and  the  breeze 
wafting  into  the  rooms  the  combined  flavour  of  pitch, 
tar,  and  the  kitchen. 

Presently  in  march  some  eight  or  ten  waiters  with 
dishes  covered  with  tin  tops,  all  of  which  they  deposit 
upon  the  table,  and  the  company  sit  down  ;  the  covers 
are  removed ;  then  you  see  twenty  different  sorts  of 
fish  dressed  twenty  different  ways,  but,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  eels,  (which,  being  the  richest  of  fish,  they 


128 

sometimes  attempt  to  dress,  in  our  sense  of  the  word,) 
everything  is  fried  and  boiled,  with  melted  butter,  and 
potatoes  as  hard  as  bullets,  and  as  white  as  tennis 
balls.  Of  all  these  dishes,  men,  women,  and  children 
indiscriminately  eat,  and  having  made  themselves  nearly 
sick  by  their  exertions,  the  doors  fly  open  again,  and 
the  waiters  reappear  with  more  dishes  and  tin  covers, 
and  you  are  served  with  hundreds  of  a  small  fry  called 
"  white  betes" — over  these  the  connoisseurs  squeeze 
lemon — I  am  not  sure  whether  they  add  sugar  ;  and 
having  prepared  the  mess,  swallow  such  quantities  of 
it  as  would  astound  you  ;  and  after  this  they  proceed 
to  eat  great  pieces  of  roast  meat,  and  then  fowls,  and 
ducks,  and  quantities  of  peas  and  beans  plain  boiled, 
with  more  melted  butter;  and  having  washed  all  this 
down  with  port  and  claret,  and  a  sort  of  ginger  beer 
which  they  sell  in  England  for  champagne,  they  con- 
clude with  a  dessert,  wind  up  the  day  by  paying 
twenty  or  thirty  pounds  for  the  entertainment,  and  re- 
turn to  town  too  late  to  fulfil  any  pleasant  engagement 
they  may  have,  and  just  in  time  to  go  to  bed  to  sleep 
off  the  fumes  of  their  feast,  and  escape,  if  they  can, 
the  head-ache  which  threatens  them  in  the  morning. 
To  be  sure  I  ought  not  to  complain,  for  the  dear  lady 
who  made  up  the  party  insisted  upon  my  being  her 
guest,  and  accordingly  her  exemplary  husband  paid 
my  share  of  the  bill,  and  was  good  enough  to  ride 
home  on  his  own  coach-box  to  make  room  for  me  in- 
side his  carriage,  as  it  turned  out  wet. 

One  night  last  week  I  was  at  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. I  was  introduced  to  the  Speaker  before  he 
went  in  to  take  the  chair,  and  was  highly  gratified  by 
the  reception  which  I  met  with.  His  manners  are 
charming,  and  although  dignified  in  an  eminent  degree, 
while  fulfilling  the  duties  of  his  important  and  arduous 
office  of  president,  there  is  a  kindness,  and  even  play- 
fulness in  his  conversation  in  private  life  which  I 
found  most  agreeable. 

We  entered  the  house  by  the  members'  door,  and 
were  placed  in  seats  exactly  similar  to  those  of  the 


129 

members,  under  the  gallery  and  in  the  body  of  the 
House,  although  technically  speaking  out  of  the  House, 
inasmuch  as  we  were  without  the  bar.  There  was  a 
very  full  attendance  of  members  and  the  smell  was 
verv  oppressive.  What  struck  me  most  forcibly  was 
the'strange  variety  of  hats  which  they  wore,  for  they 
were  almost  all  covered;  in  fact,  I  never  saw  an  as- 
sembly of  similar  importance — if  there  be  such  a  thing 
in  Europe — so  little  calculated  to  inspire  either  awe  or 
respect. 

On  the  ministerial  bench  I  saw  Lord  Althorp,  who 
looks  like  a  farmer :  Lord  John  Russell,  who  looks 
like  a  frog  ;  Lord  Palmerston,  who  looks  like  a  man- 
milliner  ;~and  Sir  James  Graham,  who  looks  like  an 
English  gentleman — indeed  he  is  the  beau  ideal  of 
the  island  aristocrat.  Mr.  Edward  Ellice  is  a  good 
bluff-looking  man,  and  was  sitting  in  earnest  conver- 
sation with  a  member  whose  name  I  think  they  told 
me  was  Baumgarten,  although  I  could  not  find  it  in 
the  list  of  members  when  I  went  home.  Mr.  Fergus- 
son  was  also  there,  who,  they  told  me,  had  been  im- 
prisoned in  Newgate  for  a  riot  some  years  ago  ;  and 
Mr.  Whittle  Harvey,  a  particular  friend  of  Lord 
Brougham,  who  has  made  a  great  complaint  that  he 
is  not  permitted  to  be  a  pleader  in  the  courts  here,  be- 
ing, as  he  thinks,  fully  entitled  to  be  called  to  the  bar. 
I  saw,  too,  Mr.  Jeffrey,  the  writer  of  the  M  Edinburg 
Review,"  to  whom  I  had  been  previously  introduced; 
and  Sir  Edward  Codrington,  the  admiral  who  did  us  so 
much  good  at  Navarino,  by  crippling  the  Turks,  who 
before  that  time  were  rather  important  allies  of  the 
English — he  is  a  heavy  man,  but  they  say  brave,  and 
is  called  "  Go  it,  Ned," — the  reason  why,  I  was  un- 
able to  learn. 

You  may  remember  how  often  we  have  endeavour- 
ed to  comprehend  in  its  true  sense  the  meaning  of  the 
words  "  the  liberty  of  the  press,"  we  fancying  it 
meant  the  power  of  the  Government  to  press  sailors 
into  the  King's  service.  I  found  out  my  mistake  : 
it  means  the  privileges  of  the  newspapers.     Not  only 


130 

have  the  reporters  of  the  papers  seats  assigned  them 
in  the  gallery,  but  the  publie  journals, — or,  «w  they 
are  called  now,  the  "  fourth  estate," — have  their  in- 
dividual representatives  in  Parliament; — Mr.  Walter 
represents  the  "  Times ;"  Mr.  Cobbett  represents 
his  own  "  Register ;"  Mr.  Baines  represents  the 
"  Leeds  Mercury  ;"  Colonel  Torrens  represents  the 
"  Globe  ;"  Mr.  Buckingham  represents  the  "  Parlia- 
mentary Review  ;"  Mr.  Whittle  Harvey  the  "Sun- 
day  Times;"  Mr.  Spankie  the  "  Morning  Chronicle  :" 
this  is  quite  as  it  should  be, — especially,  as  I  am  told, 
that,  although  the  Ministers  here  govern  the  country, 
the  newspapers  govern  them. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  House  I  saw  Sir  Ro- 
bert Peel,  whom  I  knew  ;  Mr.  Goulburn  ;  and  Sir 
Henry  Hardinge,  whom  I  hate,  not  only  for  his  par- 
ticipation in  that  ruinous  battle  of  Waterloo,  but  for 
the  manner  in  which  he  upholds  everything  English  ; 
I  cannot  bear  nationality  of  this  sort.  Cobbett  was 
pointed  out  to  me.  He  looks  like  a  farmer, — but  a 
very  respectable  one.  And  Hume  I  saw, — at  whose 
calculations  we  used  to  have  so  many  laughs  when  he 
was  fancied  by  the  mobility  here,  a  much  greater  man 
than  he  passes  for  now  ; — he  is  a  remarkably  ill-look- 
ing man,  but  married  a  great  fortune.  The  history  of 
his  dissecting  his  brother  is  a  true  one.  But  he  justi- 
fies his  conduct  by  his  solicitude  to  ascertain  the  com- 
plaint by  which  he  lost  him  ;  and  says — *'  I  cannot 
say  that  I  dissected  him,  for  I  didn't.  I  only  joost 
oppenned  him  to  see  what  he  died  o\" 

I  was  quite  pleased  to  see  Sir  Francis  Burdett  look- 
ing so  well.  I  met  him  afterwards,  and  he  desired 
to  be  remembered  to  you  ;  he  was  walking  with  Sir 
Charles  Wethdrell,  which  surprised  me,  knowing 
how  their  principles  differ,  but  it  seems  the  sharp  edge 
of  Sir  Francis'  politics  is  worn  down;  which  annoys 
some  of  his  violent  supporters,  who  swear  he  shall 
not  represent  Westminster  again.  If  he  does  not,  Lord 
Grey  will  make  him  a  peer ;  he  serves  a  great  many 
people  in  that  way  when  he  takes  it  into  his  head. 

I   heard   Lord   Palmerston  speak  upon  the  foreign 


131 

policy  of  England  ;  of  all  men  I  ever  heard,  I  like  him 
the  best,  at  least  upon  that  topic  ; — there  is  something 
so  liberal  in  his  views, — so  careless  of  what  are  called 
the  interest  of  his  country, — nothing  selfish, — that  I 
could  have  fancied  one  of  our  Deputies,  or  even  Tal- 
leyrand himself,  was  discussing  the  subject.  A.  Mr. 
Thompson — Monsieur  Tonson — spoke,  too,  about 
trade  and  commerce  ;  and  also  pleased  me  very  much. 
You  remember  him  in  Paris,  and  the  little  on  dits. 
They  do  not  seem  to  mind  those  things  here:  but,  be 
that  as  it  may,  Thompson  is  a  treasure  to  us.  I  do 
not  think  that  our  excellent  King — absolute  as  he  has 
become,  I  still  call  him  excellent — could  have  more 
efficient  allies  than  Thompson  and  Palmerston  ; — the 
latter  they  call  cupul ;  why  I  know  not,  except  as  his 
blindness  is  alluded  to,  for  he  is  quite  passe  as  to  love- 
ability. 

I  heard  no  eloquence,  and  1  fancy  myself  a  judge, 
for  I  am  told,  except  young  De  N — ,  that  nobody 
born  in  France  writes  with  a  better  idiom  than  myself. 
The  debate — if  it  could  be  called — consisted  of  merely 
questions  and  answers  ;  in  which  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  opposition  had  the  best  of  it.  The  speaker  wears  a 
long  powdered  wig,  like  one  of  their  Judges  here,  and 
a  silk  gown ;  over  his  coat  he  had  the  red  riband  of 
the  Bath,  of  which  he  is  a  Knight  Grand  Cross. 

I  went  two  evenings  after  into  the  House  of  Lords, 
and  there,  to  be  sure,  I  saw  such  a  scene  as  I  never 
could  have  anticipated  even  in  this  shopkeeping  coun- 
try, Lord  Brougham,  who  is  the  great  liberal,  and 
represents  the  "  Penny  Magazine"  in  the  Upper 
House,  as  Mr.  Torrens  does  the  "  Globe"  in  the  other, 
was  skipping  about,  shrieking  out  contradictions  and 
hooting  out  assertions  in  a  tone  better  suited  to  what 
they  call  here,  pottouses  (I  don't  know  if  that  is  the 
way  to  spell  the  word)  than  such  an  august  assembly. 
And  then, — which  I  could  not  have  believed  if  I  had 
not  seen  it — a  little  bandy-legged  fellow,  in  full  dress, 
walked  into  the  House  and  gave  the  Chancellor  a  glass 
of  something,   sufficiently    strong   to    have    killed   a 


I  •..:?>.    jiu-  . 


*    _n 


■1 


133 

I  did  no:  s     I  have 

l  a  1  I        □  my  plea- 

..  deterionU  d  by  the 

I,  so  l  sdv  80  wor- 

I  did  not,  bow- 

D  that  a  travel  arc 

ble  dissimulation  which 

■  hile  the  heart  is  bitterly  af- 
[  1  -         aoedly 

>assador  .  .hat  it  would 

no. 
B  tell  you  a  joke  of  M.       T  .'.leyrand  which 
|  smile.       !  opened  to  call 

upon  the  l1    .       :   W  _  it  *t  I       ■    .-   .  >oking 

at  two  or  three  of  the  robes  which,  at  certain  periods 
of  the  ceremony  o!  his  installation,  h<  car  at 

Oxford.     Talleyrand  could  not  avoid  h,~         .      w8o, 
said   he  to   his   gra        **C  -        W       .   Duke, 

you  are  going  to  end  just  where  1  be_ 

The  -  de  Dino  was  a  good  deal  eat  up  about 

the  disappointment;  and  it  w  not  go- 

ing should  be  put  upon  the  illness  of  one  of  her  chil- 
1  .'.ink  I  should  have  gone  if  they  had ;  for  I 
am  told  if  Talleyrand  had  been  made  a  Doctor,  r 
proposed  that  he  and  Lor      V  -itould  dance  a 

pas  de  deux  in  the  thea 

on  with  this  overstarched  religious  na- 
tion, to  go  on  Sundays  to  the  Zoological  Garden-.  1 
went  there     itS  .;h  no  compunctious  visitings; 

but  it  does  seem  to  me — the   whole   world   is  full  of 
contradictions — that  a  steady,  sober  set  of  people,  who 
at  this  moment  are  covering  the  table  of  the  House  of 
Commons  with  petitions  for  the  better  observance  of 
^abbath,  and  to  attain  which   end,  three   or  four 
Bills  are  going  through  their  Parliament,  might,  if  they 
acted  consistently,  do  something  more  suited  to  the 
r.an  run  to  see  an  elephant  wash,  a  rhinoceros 
canter,  or  little  monkeys   flirt.     For  us,  luckily  being 
what  the  vulgar  folks  here  call  Papists,  we  care  little 
-uch  matters.     Our  Sundav  is  no  dav  of  gloom, 
12 


134 

and  having  performed  our  devotions,  we  feel  ourselves 
justifiably  fulfilling  the  injunctions  of  our  Maker,  by- 
devoting  to  gaiety  and  pleasure  the  remainder  of  a  day 
sanctified  to  Him,  by  the  abstinence  from  all  labour 
and  care.  But  here,  where  I  really  believe  many  of 
the  people  go  to  evening  church  after  having  witness- 
ed the  washing  of  the  beasts,  it  is  too  ridiculous  ! 

One  of  the  pious  frauds  which  these  very  sedate 
islanders  commit  upon  themselves,  is  that  of  having 
what  they  call  Fancy  Fairs  for  the  benefit  of  certain 
charitable  institutions.  The  people,  I  must  own,  are 
really  and  truly  charitable — but  they  have  a  fashion 
even  in  that — instead  of  giving  their  guineas  or  pounds 
for  those  purposes,  the  young  ladies  go  about  and 
buy  bits  of  gauze  and  riband,  and  beads,  and  gum,  and 
brushes,  and  gold  paper,  and  artificial  flowers  ;  and 
bits  of  riband  and  tinsel,  and  foil,  and  beads,  and  set 
themselves  down  to  make  little  toys  and  trinkets,  and 
card-cases,  and  purses,  and  watch-papers,  and  pen-wi- 
pers, and  a  variety  of  similar  necessary  articles  which, 
at  a  certain  time,  they  expose  for  sale  in  some  public 
place,  and  the  proceeds  go  to  the  uses  of  the  favoured 
establishment.  But  lest  these  little  innocent  efforts, 
these  pen-wipers,  and  purses,  and  card-cases,  and 
watch-papers,  should  not  fetch  a  sufficiently  high  price, 
the  young  ladies  go  themselves,  and,  undressing  for 
the  occasion  in  evening  costume,  stand  behind  the 
counters,  firing  off  their  most  engaging  looks  and  be- 
witching smiles  in  order  to  fascinate  a  crowd  of  strange 
men  out  of  an  extra  shilling  or  two.  And  these  are 
the  shy  misses  who  shudder  at  foreign  assurance  ! 

These  fancy  fairs  are  doubly  bad  ;  for  while  they 
reduce  the  daughters  of  the  aristocracy  to  the  level  of 
boutiquieres,  they  seriously  injure  the  boutiquieres 
whose  vocation  they  so  charitably  assume.  If  they 
bought  the  articles  and  sold  them  again,  the  absurdity 
would  be  all  the  mischief;  but  when  these  ingenious 
young  creatures,  or,  as  the  lower  orders  call  them, 
"ereechurs,"  club  their  talents  to  supersede  the  indus- 
try and  destroy  the  profits  of  their  inferiors,  they  do 


135 

more  serious  injury  to  the  hard-working  and  industri- 
ous classes,  than  they  do  of  good  to  the  institutions 
for  which  they  profess  so  great  an  interest. 

I  must,  however,  my  dear  Henriette,  conclude  my 
letter.  You  shall  hear  from  me  shortly  again.  Tell 
my  aunt  what  you  think  proper  as  to  my  proceedings  ; 
and  remember,  if  you  write  before  I  write  again,  it 
must  be  in  English — that  is  our  compact.     Give  my 

best  love  to  G.  and  De  S.,  and  believe  me, Ever 

yours  affectionately. 


136 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  PLEASURE 


OR 


A   PIC-MC 


When  in  matters  of  a  thousand  and  a  thousand 
times  recurrence  the  result  is,  invariably,  the  same,  it 
may  fairly  be  taken  for  granted  that  chance  has  nothing 
to  do  in  directing  it ;  it  must  be  considered  as  belong- 
ing to  the  very  nature  of  the  matter  or  thing  itself; 
and  to  expect  a  different  issue  would  be  to  expect  a 
manifest  impossibility.  With  this  truth  for  their 
guide,  or  rather,  for  their  warning,  how  is  it  that  spe- 
culators and  projectors,  who  have  witnessed  the  fail- 
ure of  their  schemes  and  experiments  five  hundred 
times  repeated,  should  still  persist  in  renewing  them 
in  the  very  teeth  of  experience,  reason,  and  common 
sense  ?  How  is  it  that  Colonel  Martingale,  who  has 
lost  three  fine  fortunes  at  play,  and  ought  to  be  in  pos- 
session of,  at  least,  a  plentiful  stock  of  experience  in 
exchange  for  his  money,  can  so  far  delude  himself  with 
a  new  scheme  for  breaking  all  the  tables  in  Europe, 
as,  even  now,  to  be  offering  for  sale  his  only  remain- 
ing property — the  gold  repeater  worn  by  his  late  fa- 
ther, and  his  mother's  portrait  by  Sir  Joshua  !  for  two 
hundred  pounds,  wherewith  to  carry  his  infallible 
scheme  into  execution  ?  How  is  it  that  our  friend 
Ranter,  whose  thirty-four  tragedies  have  been  rejected 
by  all  the  theatres  in  London,  should,  at  this  moment, 
be  engaged  in  the  composition  of  the  thirty-fifth  ?  Or, 
most  marvellous  and  astonishing  of  all !  how  should  Mr. 


137 

Claudius  Bagshaw  have  conceived  or  imagined  that 
his  Pic-nic  party,  last  year,  to  Twickenham  meadows, 
should  turn  out  a  pleasant  thing  ? 

To  give  a  Pic-nic  party  a  fair  chance  of  success,  it 
must  be  almost  impromptu :  projected  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  night  at  the  earliest,  executed  at  twelve 
o'clock  of  the  following  day  at  the  latest ;  and  even 
then  the  odds  are  fearfully  against  it.  The  climate  of 
England  is  not  remarkable  for  knowing  its  own  mind; 
nor  is  the  weather  "  so  fixed  in  its  resolve"  but  that 
a  bright  August  moon,  suspended  in  a  clear  sky,  may 
be  lady-usher  to  a  morn  of  fog,  sleet,  and  drizzle. 
Then  again — but  this  being  tender  ground,  we  will 
only  hint  at  the  possibility  of  such  a  change — a  lady 
of  the  intended  party  might  quit  the  drawing-room  at 
night  in  the  sweetest  humour  imaginable,  and  make 
her  appearance  at  breakfast  in  a  less  amiable  mood,  or, 
perhaps,  "  prefer  taking  breakfast  in  her  own  room," 
—from  which  notice  husbands  sometimes  infer  that 
such  a  change  has  taken  place.  Then,  my  gentleman 
may  receive  a  post-letter  bringing  bad  accounts  of  his 
partridges  ;  or  he  may  read  in  the  newspaper  of  the 
failure  of  his  banker  ;  or — in  short,  twelve  hours  are 
a  long  time,  and  great  and  wondrous  events  may  occur, 
all  of  them  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  party  of  pleasure. 
But  such  an  affair,  long  prepared  and  carefully  arranged ! 
— why  it  is  of  all  the  modes  of  human  enjoyment  the 
least  satisfactory ;  and  the  greater  the  care,  and  the 
longer  the  preparation,  the  more  disagreeable  is  the 
result.  The  experiment  has  been  tried  by  hundreds 
and  by  thousands  on  each  of  the  fifteen  or  twenty  days 
of  an  English  summer,  and,  invariably,  with  the  same 
ill  success.  The  quantum  of  pleasure  derived  has  al- 
ways been  in  an  inverse  ratio  to  the  pains  employed 
to  procure  it.  Besides,  Mr.  Claudius  Bagshaw  knew, 
or  he  ought  to  have  known,  that  (to  use  a  phrase  with 
which  he  was  formerly  familiar)  it  is  unwise  to  draw 
at  a  long  date  upon  a  rickety  firm  ;  and  Madame 
Pleasure  being  in  that  predicament,  the  shorter  you 
make  your  drafts  the  more  likely  is  she  to  honour 
12* 


138 

them  :  a  fortiori,  drafts  at  sight,  without  advice,  are 
the  best  and  surest.  But  the  fact  is,  Mr.  Claudius 
Bagshaw  could  have  thought  nothing  at  all  about  the 
matter,  or  it  must  have  occurred  to  him  that,  as  an 
English  Pic-nic  never  has  succeeded,  one  never  could 
succeed  ;  at  all  events,  he  would  not,  in  defiance  of 
"  the  wisdom  and  experience  of  ages,"  have  com- 
menced preparations  on  the  third  of  July  for  a  day's 
pleasure  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  August! 

Mr.  Claudius  Bagshaw  was,  formerly,  a  silk-mercer 
in  one  of  "  those  pleasant,  still,  sequestered  lanes" 
branching  northward  out  of  Cheapside.  At  an  early 
period  of  his  blameless  life — (we  confess  our  obliga- 
tions to  a  tombstone  for  this  interesting  phrase.) — he 
married  the  daughter  of  a  neighbouring  warehouseman, 
a  lady  whose  charms  were,  at  the  time,  extolled  by 
the  loving  bridegroom  in  regular  climax  :  she  possess- 
ed accomplishments,  beauty,  virtue,  and — eighteen 
hundred  pounds.  After  some  years  of  laudable  indus- 
try, Mr.  Bagshaw  found  himself  master  of  a  tolerable 
fortune ;  and,  moreover,  being  blest  by  not  being 
plagued  with  any  pledges  of  mutual  affection,  he  very 
wisely  considered  that  he  and  his  lady  might  pass  the 
rest  of  their  lives  very  idly  and  pleasantly  together:  so, 
selling  off  his  silks,  satins,  and  velvets,  lease,  fixtures, 
and  good-will,  and  investing  the  produce  of  the  sale 
along  with  his  other  moneys,  in  the  government  securi- 
ties, he  retired  into  the  country  to  live  the  life  of  a  pri- 
vate gentleman.  The  term  "  country,"  if  largely  defined, 
would  mean  "  a  vast  open  tract  of  land  remote  from  a 
populous  city ;"  in  a  more  restricted  sense  it  means, 
simply,  "  out  of  town."  Mr.  Bagshaw,  being  satis- 
fied with  the  latter  definition,  purchased  an  edifice, 
ycleped  "Lake  of  Lausanne  Lodge;" — a  title,  its 
right  to  which  no  one  would  have  presumed  to  contest, 
so  long  as  it  stood  alone  in  the  centre  of  an  extensive 
brick-field  at  the  back  of  Euston-square,  with  a  large 
muddy  pond  on  one  side,  and  Primrose  Hill  bounding 
the  prospect  on  the  other ;  but  which  seems  to  be  some- 
what inappropriate,  now  that  it  is  built  in  on  all  sides 
by  houses  considerably  higher  than  itself.     However, 


.*Mfc. 


139 

we  protest  against  holding  Mr.  Claudius  Bagshaw  ac- 
countable for  this  :  in  the  present  rage  for  building, 
the  same  accident  might  have  occurred  to  him  had  he 
betaken  himself  to  the  highest  hill  in  Cumberland. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  of  July,  the  Bagshaws 
■were  busy  in  their  several  after-breakfast  occupations  : 
he  reading  the  Morning  Post,  (that  being  the  paper  he 
patronized  as  soon  as  he  became  a  private  gentleman,) 
the  lady  herborizing,  botanizing,  and  ruralizing  in  the 
garden.  This  garden,  it  is  true,  falls  somewhat  short 
of  the  flourishing  description  given  of  it  in  the  cata- 
logue of  the  auctioneer  who  knocked  down  the  pro- 
perty to  its  present  owner — "an  extensive  garden,  well 
stocked  with  fruit-trees  and  flowering  shrubs  ;"  yet  it 
is  actually  forty-two  feet  long  by  eighteen  feet  wide, 
and  contains  two  lilacs,  one  poplar,  sundry  pots  of  ge- 
raniums, pinks,  and  mignonette,  two  apple-trees,  one 
ditto  cherry,  (which  in  compliment,  no  doubt,  to  their 
master  and  mistress,  have  never  taken  the  liberty  to 
be  blest  with  offspring,)  and  a  peach-tree  which  does 
annually  contribute  forty  or  fifty  little  hard  knobs, 
not  in  the  finest  state  for  the  table,  but  admirably 
adapted  to  the  service  of  a  minor  piece  of  ordnance  call- 
ed a  pop-gun.  We  are  thus  particular  in  describing 
the  rural  capabilities  of  this  retreat,  in  order  to  show 
that  if,  except  on  great  and  remarkable  occasions,  the 
Bagshaws  languished  not  for  country  more  countrified 
than  their  own,  it  was  not  that  they  were  insensible 
to  the  beauties  of  nature,  but  because  "  Lake  of  Lau- 
sanne Lodge,"  with  its  domain,  its  lilacs,  apple-trees, 
&c.  presented  quite  as  many  as  any  rational  being 
ought  to  covet. 

"  How  fortunate  we  shall  be,  dear,"  said  Mr.  Bag- 
shaw, who  having  finished  the  reading  of  his  news- 
paper, had  proceeded  to  the  window  to  observe  his 
lady's  horticultural  pursuits, — "  how  happy  we  shall 
be,  if  the  weather  should  be  as  fine  on  our  wedding- 
day  as  it  is  to-day." 

"  True,  love,"  replied  Mrs.  Bagshaw;  "but  this  is 
only  the  third  of  July,  and,  as  the  anniversary  of  our 


140 

happy  day  is  the  twenty-fourth  of  August,  the  weather 
may  change." 

This  proposition  Mr.  Bagshaw  did  not  attempt  to 
deny. 

The  Bagshaws  were  the  happiest  couple  in  the  world. 
Being  blest,  as  we  have  said  before,  with  the  nega- 
tive blessing  of  no  offspring,  the  stream  of  their  affec- 
tion was  not  diverted  into  little  channels,  but  ebbed  and 
flowed  in  one  uninterrupted  tide  reciprocally  from  bo- 
som to  bosom.  They  never  disputed,  they  never  quar- 
relled. Yes,  they  did  sometimes,  but  then  it  was  from 
a  mutual  <wer-anxiety  to  please.  Each  was  afraid  to 
pronounce  a  choice,  or  a  preference,  lest  it  might  be 
disagreeable  to  the  other;  and  hence  there  occasionally 
did  arise  little  bickerings,  and  tiffings,  and  minings, 
which  were  quite  as  unpleasant  in  their  effects,  and, 
sometimes,  as  difficult  to  settle,  as  quarrels  originating 
in  less  amiable  causes. 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Bagshaw,  referring  to  the  baro- 
meter, "  the  instrument  for  indicating  the  present  state 
and  probable  changes  of  the  weather,  still  maintains 
its  elevation  ;  2nd  I  tell  you  what,  dear,  if  the  weather 
should  be  preposterous  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  August, 
suppose,  instead  of  going  into  the  North,  as  we  did 
last  year,  we  migrate  into  Kent  or  Surrey  ?'' 

Now,  lest  the  reader  should  imagine  that  Mr.  Clau- 
dius Bagshaw  alluded  to  a  journey  to  Northumberland. 
or  contemplated  a  flight  to  Canterbury  or  Godalming,  it 
is  proper  he  should  know  that  Mr.  Bagshaw,  since  his 
retirement  from  business,  had  become  a  member  of 
one  of  those  March-of-intellect  seminaries,  which 
abound  in  and  about  London,  for  the  improvement  of 
grown  gentlemen  whose  education  had  been  neglected  : 
— "  The  Islington,  Gray's-inn-lane,  and  Xewroad 
Grand-Junction,  Literary,  Scientific,  and  Philosophi- 
cal Institution."  The  natural  consequence  of  his  as- 
sociation with  this  learned  body  was,  that  he  never 
used  a  short  word  when  he  could  press  a  long  one  in- 
to the  service,  though  in  most  instances  the  word  so 
kidnapped  might  fairly  have  pleaded  the  privilege  of 


141 

exemption  ;  nor  would  he  express  himself,  upon  the 
most  simple  subject,  in  his  old,  intelligible,  though 
not  super-elegant,  Cheapside  phraseology,  if  he  could 
contrive  to  find  a  philosophical  term,  or  to  construct  a 
round-about  sentence  for  the  purpose  ; — in  short,  to 
the  original  fool  and  ignoramus  was  superadded  the 
pedant": — so  that  if  he  wanted  the  warming-pan,  he 
would  say,  "  Bring  me  the  contrivance  for  raising  the 
temperature  of  the  atmosphere  of  beds ;"  and  now, 
when  he  talked  to  Mrs.  Bagshaw  about  the  "  North," 
and  "Kent,"  and  "  Surrey,"  he  meant  nothing  in  the 
world  more  than  this :  "  Instead  of  dining  at  Hamp- 
stead,  as  we  did  last  year,  shall  we  go  to  Greenwich, 
or  to  Putney,  and  eat  little  fishes  ?" 

"  Whiche'ver  you  like,  love,"  was  the  lady's  answer 
to  the  so-intended  question. 

"  But  I  put  it  to  your  choice,  dear." 

"Either — or  neither — please  yourself,  love,  and  you 
are  sure  you  will  please  me." 

"  Psha  !  But  it  is  for  the  gratification  of  your — or 
more  properly  speaking,  for  your  gratification,  I  sub- 
mit to  you  an  alternative  for  the  purpose  of  election ; 
and  you  know,  Jane,  I  repudiate  indifference,  even  as 
concerning  or  applying  to  trifles." 

"  You  know,  Claudius,  we  have  but  one  wish,  and 
that  is  to  please  each  other ;  so  do  you  decide." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Bagshaw,  I  must  promulgate  a  request 
that — having,  as  I  have,  no  desire  but  to  please  you — 
you  will " 

"  How,  Sir !  would  you  force  me  to  choose,  when 
I  am  so  obedient  as  to  choose  that  you  should  have  the 
choice  entirely  your  own  way  ?  This  treatment  of  me 
is  monstrous  !"  And  here  Mrs.  Bagshaw  did  what  it 
is  usual  and  proper  for  ladies  to  do  on  such  occasions 
— she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Why  then,  Madam,  to  use  a  strong  expression,  I 

must  say  that "  But  a  loud  rap  at  the  street-door 

prevented  the  utterance  of  an  "  expression,"  the  force 
of  which  would  doubtless  have  humbled  Mrs.  Claudius 
Bagshaw  down  to  the  very  dust. 


142 

"  Claudius,"  said  the  lady,  hastily  drying  her  eyes, 
"  that  is  Uncle  John's  knock.  We'll  go  to  Gre— Put 
— Greenwich,  love." 

"  That's  well,  dear;  and  be  assured,  love,  that  no- 
thing is  so  adverse  to  the  constitution  of  what  Locke 
emphatically  calls  the  human  mind,  philosophically 
considered,  as  to  persevere  in  that  state  of.  indecision 

which — that— whereof But    we    will    not   go   to 

either ;  Uncle  John  shall  select  the  locality." 

Uncle  John  was  a  bachelor  of  fifty-five,  possess- 
ing twelve  thousand  pounds,  a  strong  disinclination  to 
part  with  any  of  them,  a  good  heart,  and  a  bad  temper. 
His  good  heart  was  of  no  farther  use  than  to  prevent 
his  doing  anything  positively  wicked  or  mischievous; 
while  his  bad  temper,  together  with  his  twelve  thousand 
pounds,  which  he  intended  to  leave  to — none  of  his 
relations  knew — rendered  him  so  great  a  tyrant  in  his 
small  way,  that  to  all,  except  those  interested  in  sub- 
mitting to  him,  his  whims,  caprices,  and  ill-humours 
were,  at  times,  intolerable.  It  must,  however,  be  stated 
in  his  favour,  that  such  times  were  chiefly  when  the 
weather  was  bad,  or  his  stomach  out  of  order.  Upon 
this  occasion,  the  sky  being  clear,  and  the  digestive 
organs  in  condition,  Uncle  John  appeared  to  the  best 
advantage — he  could. 

"  Good  morning  t'  ye,  good  folks  ;  as  usual,  I  per- 
ceive,— billing  and  cooing." 

The  Bagshaws  had  by  this  time  got  together  in  a 
corner  of  the  garden,  and  were  lovingly  occupied  in 
trimming  the  same  pot  of  sweet-peas. 

"  Quite  the  contrary,  Uncle  John,"  said  Mrs.  Bag- 
?haw.  "  Claudius  and  I  have  just  had  one  of  our  most 
desperate  quanels."  And  here  the  happy  pair  giggled, 
and  exchanged  looks,  which  were  meant  to  imply  that 
their  most  desperate  quarrels  were  mere  kittens'  play  ; 
and  that  Uncle  John  did  so  interpret  them,  he  made 
manifest  by  a  knowing  shake  of  his  fore-finger. 

"  The  fact  is,  Sir,  Jane  and  I  talk  of  commemora- 
ting the  annual  recurrence  of  the  anniversary  of  our 
wedding-day,  at  some  place  a  leetle  farther  in  the  coun- 


148 

try  ;  but  our  minds  are  in  a  perfect  vacuum  concern- 
ing the  identity  of  the  spot.  Now,  Sir,  will  you  re- 
duce the  place  to  a  mathematical  certainty,  and  be  one 
of  the  party  ?" 

"  Why — um — no  :  these  things  are  expensive  ;  we 
come  home  at  night  with  a  guinea  apiece  less  in  our 
pockets,  and  I  don't  see  the  good  of  that." 

"  I  have  it !"  cried  Bagshaw  ;  "  we'll  make  it  a  pic- 
nic ;  that  won't  be  expensive." 

"  Then  I'm  with  you,  Bagshaw,  with  all  my  heart 
— and  it  shall  be  alfresco." 

"  There,  or  any  where  else  you  please,  Sir,"  grave- 
ly replied  the  learned  member  of  the  Universal-Know- 
iedge-Warehouse. 

"  Uncle  John  means  in  the  open  air,  Claudius  ;  that 
will  be  delightful." 

"  Charming  !"  rejoined  Bagshaw  :  "  and  as  one  of 
our  most  celebrated  writers,  whose  name  I  do  not  at 
this  moment  remember — in  one  of  his  most  generally- 
esteemed  works,  the  title  of  which  I  forget — says, — 
and  with  that  deep  insight  into  the  most  secret  work- 
ings of  the  human  heart,  for  which  he  is  so  very  super- 
eminent, — that  a  party  to  be  pleasant,  should,  in  its 
component  parts,  numerically  consist  of  a  number  not 
more  restricted  than  the  Muses,  nor  more  exaggerated 
than  the — the — What  I  mean  is,  that  we  must  exercise 
some  caution  and  research  in  respect  of  whom  and  of 
how  many  we  invite  to  join  us — Ay,"  with  a  sud- 
den recollection,  "  the  Muses  and  the  Graces — and  the 
Graces." 

Pray  let  it  be  remembered,  in  excuse  for  the  mem- 
ber of  the  "  Islington,  Gray's-inn-lane,  and  New-road 
Grand-Junction,  Literary,  Scientific,  and  Philosophical 
Institution,"  that,  although  forty-nine  years  in  the 
world,  lie  was  not  by  any  means  of  so  long  standing  in 
the  Belles  Lettres. 

"And,"  continued  the  learned  member,  "as  we 
have  plenty  of  time  before  us,  let  us  use  it  to  the  best 
advantage,  instantly  commence  preparations,  beat  up 
for   recruits,    and   put  our  shoulders    steadily  to  the 


144 

wheel;  and  if  by  a  judicious  distribution  and  applica- 
tion of  labour — the  first  principle  of  all  social  compacts 
— if,  I  say,  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  next  August,  we 
do  not  by  that  co-operation  produce  an  aggregate  of 
pleasure  to  be  equally  shared  amongst  the  members  of 
our  little  community — without  which  equal  division 
the  bonds  of  society  must — break — asunder  : — if,  in 
short,  we  don't  make  the  pleasantest  thing  of  it  that 
ever  was,  I'm  greatly  mistaken." 

It  may  be  inquired  why  Uncle  John,  who  objected 
to  the  disbursement  of  a  guinea  for  a  day's  pleasure, 
should  so  readily 'have  yielded  at  the  suggestion  of  a 
pic-nic.  Uncle  John  possessed  a  neat  little  morocco 
pocket-case,  containing  a  dozen  silver  spoons,  and  silver- 
handled  knives  and  forks  ;  anp1  although  we  are  told  that 
these  implements  are  of  later  invention  than  fingers,  there 
is,  nevertheless,  a  very  general  bias  in  their  favour,  for 
the  purposes  to  which  they  are  applied.  Now,  Uncle 
John  being  aware  of  the  prevalence  «?f  their  employ- 
ment, it  was  for  this  reason  he  never  objected  to  make 
one  of  a  pic-nic  party  ;  for  whilst  others  contributed 
chickens,  pigeon-pies,  or  wines — it  being  the  principle 
of  such  parties  that  each  member  should  furnish  some- 
thing to  the  feast — Uncle  John  invariably  contributed 
— the  use  of  his  knives,  forks,  and  spoons. 

The  whole  morning  was  spent  in  debating  on  who 
should  be  invited  to  partake  of  this  "  pleasantest  thing 
that  ever  was,"  and  examining  into  their  several  pre- 
tensions, and  their  powers  of  contributing  to  the  amuse- 
ments of  the  day  ;  when,  at  length,  the  honour  of  nomi- 
nation was  conferred  upon  the  persons  following,  and 
for  the  reasons  assigned  : — 

Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Grouts — because  of  their  title, 
which  would  give  an  air  to  the  thing — (Sir  Thomas, 
formerly  a  corn-chandler,  having  been  knighted  for 
carrying  up  an  address  in  the  late  reign.) 

Miss  Euphemia  Grouts,  daughter  No.  1, — who 
would  bring  her  guitar. 

Miss  Corinna  Grouts,  ditto  No.  '^,— because  she 
would  sing. 


145 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  S»odgrass,-rMr*  Snodgrass  being 
Vice-president  of  the  Grand  Junction  March-of-intellect 

Society,  /i      i        11  j 

Mr.  Frederick  Snodgrass,  their  son,  (lately  called  to 
the  Chancers-  bar), — who  would  bring  his  flute. 

Messrs.  Wrench  and  Son,  (eminent  dentists.)— The 
father  to  be  invited  because  he  was  charming  company, 
and  the  son,  a  dead  bore,  because  the  father  would  be 
offended  if  he  were  not.     And,  lastly, 

Miss  Snubbleston,  a  rich  maiden  lady  of  forty-four, 
— for  no  other  earthly  qualification  whatever  than  her 
carriage,  which  (to  use  Bagshaw's  words)  "  would 
carry  herself  and  us  three,  and  also  transplant  a  large 
portion  of  the  provender  to  the  place  of  rendezvous.'' 

Bagshaw  having  made  out  a  fair  copy  of  this  list, 
somewhat  in  the  shape  of  a  bill  of  parcels,  this,  the 
first  step  towards  the  "  pleasantesUhing  that  ever  was," 
was  taken  with  entire  satisfaction. 

"  Why,  Bagshaw,"  exclaimed  Uncle  John,  who 
had  cast  up  the  numbers,  "  including  our  three  selves, 
we  shall  be  thirteen  !" 

The  member  of  the  Institution  perceived  the  cause 
of  his  alarm  ;  but  having  been  lectured  out  of  preju- 
dices respecting  matters  of  greater  moment  than  this,  he 
prepared  a  look  of  ineffable  contempt  as  his  only  re- 
ply :  however,  happening  to  think  of  Uncle  John's 
twelve  thousand  pounds,  he  suppressed  it,  and  just 
contented  himself  with — "And  what  then,  Sir?" 

"  Why,  then,  Sir,  that  is  a  risk  I  won't  run  ;  and 

unless  we  can  manage  to 1  have  it !  the  very  man. 

How  came  we  to  forget  him  !  The — very — man. 
You  know  Jack  Richards  ?" 

The  last  four  words  were  delivered  in  a  tone  imply- 
ing the  utter  impossibility  of  any  human  creature  being 
unacquainted  with  Jack  Richards. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  Sir ;  I  never  heard  of  him." 

M  What !  never  heard  of  Ja .  The  thing  is  im- 
possible ;  every  body  knows  Jack  Richards.  The  very 
thing  for  us  :  such  a  wit !  such  a  wag  !  he  is  the  life 
and  soul  of  everything.  Should  he  but  be  unengaged 
13 


146 

for  the  twenty-fourth  of  August !  But  he  is  so  caught 
up  !  I  was  invited  to  meet  him  at  dinner  last  Sunday 
at  Jones's,  but  he  didn't  come.  Such  a  disappointment 
to  us  !  However,  I  shall  meet  him  on  Thursday  at 
the  Tims's,  if  he  should  but  keep  his  promise,  and 
then " 

"But,  uncle,"  said  Mrs.  Bradshaw,  "hadn't  you 
better  send  him  an  invitation  at  once  ?" 

"I'll  do  better  still,  my  dear;  I'll  call  at  his  lodg- 
ings, and  if  I  find  him  hanging  loose,  I'll  bring  him  to 
dine  with  you  to-day."  Then  turning  to  Bagshaw,  he 
added — "  That  a  man  like  you  shouldn't  know  Jack 
Richards  is  surprising !" 

As  this  was  evidently  pointed  at  Mr.  Claudius  Bag- 
shaw in  his  capacity  of  member  of  a  learned  body, 
Bagshaw  pursed  up  his  mouth  into  a  mock-modesty 
smile,  and  slightly  bowed. 

Off  went  Uncle  John  in  quest  of  Jack  Richards  ; 
and,  that  the  pleasantest  thing  in  the  world  might  not 
suffer  by  delay,  off  went  Mr.  Bagshaw  to  apprize  the 
Snodgrasses,  the  Groutses,  and  the  rest  of  the  nomi- 
nees ;  and — more  important  still ! — off  went  the  lady 
to  the  poulterer's,  to  inquire  whether  he  was  likely  to 
have  any  nice  pigeons  for  a  pie,  about  the  23d  of  next 
month. 

The  dinner-hour  arrived  and  so  did  Uncle  John,  but 
with  a  face  of  unspeakable  wo. 

"  I  feared  how  it  would  be." 

"  What !  can't  he  be  with  us  on  the  twenty-fourth  ?" 
inquired  both  the  Bagshaws  at  the  same  instant. 

"  He  will  if  he  can,  but  he  won't  promise.  But  to- 
day— I  However,  it  serves  us  right :  we  were  unwise 
to  indulge  a  hope  of  his  coming  at  so  short  a  notice. 
He  has  almost  engaged  himself  to  you  for  Sunday 
fortnight,  though.  What  a  creature  it  is  !  he  has  given 
me  such  a  pain  in  the  side  !" 

"  Something  he  said  that  almost  killed  you  with 
laughing  : — repeat  it,  uncle,  repeat  it." 

"Why,  no,  he  didn't  say  anything  particular;  but 


147 

he  has  a  knack  of  poking  one  in  the  ribs,  in  his  comi- 
cal way,  and  sometimes  he  hurts  you." 

We  intended  to  describe  Jack  Richards  at  length  ; 
Uncle  John's  accidental  notice  of  this  trait  has,  most 
probably,  rendered  that  trouble  unnecessary.  Indeed, 
we  feel  that  we  need  scarcely  add  to  it,  that  he  can 
sing  a  "  devilish  good  song," — (and  every  body  knows 
what  is  meant  by  that) — and  imitate  the  inimitable 
Mathew's  imitations  of  the  actors,  not  even  excepting 
his  imitation  of  Tate  Wilkinson's  imitation  of  Garrick. 

Except  the  uncertainty  about  Jack  Richards,  there- 
suit  of  the  morning's  occupation  was  satisfactory. 
Bagshaw,  still  retaining  his  old,  business-like  habits  of 
activity  and  industry,  had  contrived  to  wait  upon  every 
person  named  in  the  list,  all  of  whom  had  promised 
their  attendance  ;  and  Mrs.  Bagshaw  had  received  from 
the  poulterer  a  positive  assurance  that  he  would  raise 
heaven  and  earth  to  supply  her  with  pigeons  on  the  23d 
of  the  ensuing  August ! 

The  next  day  was  spent  by  Bagshaw,  at  his  Insti- 
tution, in  doubting  over  a  "  map  of  twenty  miles 
round  London,"  and  noting  down  the  names  of  several 
of  the  best-known  villages  and  rural  towns  ;  and  the 
two  or  three  days  following  that,  in  studying,  and  re- 
studying,  and  taking  extracts  from  all  the  "  Guides," 
and    "  Descriptions,"    and    "  Brief    Histories,"    and 

"  Beauties  of ,"  which  that  learned  establishment 

contained.  He  was  resolved  that  no  pains  should  be 
spared,  on  his  part,  to  contrive  a  pleasant  day.  But 
amidst  the  profusion  of  "lovely  spots,"  his  mind  be- 
came bewildered.  To  use  Othello's  phrase,  he  was 
"  perplexed  in  the  extreme  ;"  to  use  his  own,  (in  reply 
to  an  inquiry  of  Mrs.  Bagshaw's  as  to  what  place  he 
had  determined  upon,  he  was  "  like  a  specimen  of  the 
feline  tribe  introduced  into  an  emporium  for  the  exhi- 
bition and  sale  of  the  intestines  of  oxen  ;" — which,  ere 
he  became  a  member  of  the  Institution  with  a  long 
name,  would  have  been,  simply,  "  like  a  cat  in  a  tripe- 
shop."  At  length  he  had  recourse  to  the  notable  ex- 
pedient of  summoning  a  committee  of  the  whole  house, 


148 

that  each  one  might  deliver  his  or  her  opinion  for  or 
against  any  place  suggested.  Uncle  John  thought  that 
his  nephew  was  making  mountains  of  mole-hills,  and 
that  one  person  had  better  undertake  the  whole  ar- 
rangement ;  but  Bagshaw  made  no  doubt  he  should  be 
able  to  prove  "  both  synthetically  and  antithetically," 
(we  have  already  made  a  sufficient  apology  for  the 
learned  member's  occasional  blunders,)  "  that  "too  much 
pains  and  labour  could  not  be  bestowed  upon  the  ar- 
ranging of  a  party  of  pleasure  ;  that  it  was  imperious 
upon  them  to  bring  the  full  force  of  their  intellects  to 
bear  upon  each  individual  point ;  and  that — in  short — 
a  perfectly  delightful  day  must  be  the  consequence  of 
such  omniscient  and  simultaneous  efforts." 

Committees  were  forthwith  summoned.  First,  a 
committee  to  consider  of  the  whereabout.  At  this,  after 
an  evening  of  polite  squabbling,  which  had  nearly  put 
an  end  to  the  project  altogether,  Twickenham  Mea- 
dows received  the  honour  of  selection — nem.  con.  as 
Bagshaw  said.  Next — lest  it  should  happen  as  it  did 
once  happen,  for  want  of  such  preconcert,  that  a  pic- 
nic party  of  ten  found  themselves  at  their  place  of 
meeting  with  ten  fillets  of  veal  and  ten  hams — Bag3haw 
called  a  committee  of  "  provender."  Here  it  was  set- 
tled that  the  Snodgrasses  should  contribute  four  chick- 
ens and  a  tongue  ;  the  Bagshaws,  their  pigeon-pie  ; 
Wrench  and  Son,  a  ham  ;  Sir  Thomas  Grouts,  a  hamper 
of  his  own  choice  wine ;  Miss  Snubbleston,  a  basket 
of  fruit  and  pastry ;  Uncle  John,  his  silver  spoons, 
knives  and  forks  ;  and  Jack  Richards, — his  charming 
company.  And  lastly  came  the  committee  for  general 
purposes  !  !  At  this  important  meeting  it  was  ao-reed 
that  the  party  prcceed  to  Twickenham  by  water ;  that, 
to  save  the  trouble  of  loading  and  unloading,  Miss 
Snubbleston's  carriage  convey  the  hampers,  &c.  direct 
to  the  place  appointed — the  said  carriage,  moreover, 
serving  to  bring  the  ladies  to  town,  should  the  evening 
prove  cold  ;  that,  for  the  water-music,  the  following 
programme  be  adopted  : — 

I.— On   reaching    Vauxhall  Bridge  the  concert   to 


149 

commence  with  Madame  Pasta' s  grand  scena  in  "  Me- 
dea," previous  to  the  murder  of  the  children,  by  Miss 
Corinna  Grouts. 

II. — Nicholson's  grand  flute-concerto  in  five  sharps, 
by  Mr.  Frederic  Snodgrass. 

III.— Grand  aria,  with  variations,  guitar,  by  Bliss 
Euphemia  Grouts. 

IV. — Sweet  Bird:  accompaniment,  flute  obligato. 
Miss  C.  G.  and  Mr.  F.  S.— and, 

V. — The  Dettingen  Te  Deum,  (arranged  for  three 
voices,  bv  Mr.  F.  S.)  by  Miss  Euphemia.  Miss  Co- 
rinna, and  Mr.  Frederick  Snodgrass.  (The  "inter- 
stices," as  Mr.  Bagshaw  called  them,  to  be  filled  up  by 
the  amusing  talents  of  the  elder  Wrench,  and  Uncle 
John's  friend.) 

And,  lastly,  that  the  company  do  assemble  at  Mr. 
Bagshaw's  on  the  morning  of  the  24th  of  August,  at 
ten  o'clock  precisely,  in  order  to  have  the  advantage  of 
the  tide  both  ways. 

A  short  time  prior  to  the  eventful  day,  the  weather 
being  remarkably  fine,  and  the  Bagshaws  having  nothing 
better  to  do,  Mr.  Claudius  suddenly  proposed  to  his  lady 
that  they  should  "  go  and  dine  promiscuously  at  Rich- 
mond." Scarcely  had  they  arrived  ere  they  met  the 
Snodgrasses  !  and,  presently  after,  the  Groutses  !  who 
had  also  been  seduced  by  the  fine  weather  to  take  a 
jaunt  out  of  town  at  the  spur  of  the  moment !  Well ; 
they  rambled  about,  up  the  hill  and  down  the  hill, 
strolled  about  the  meadows,  went  on  the  water,  dined 
together  at  the  Castle,  talked  and  laughed  and  were 
happy,  and  returned  home,  pleased  with  their  trip, 
each  other,  and  themselves.  "If  we  have  enjoyed  so 
pleasant  a  dav  without  any  preparation  for  it,"  said 
Mr.  Claudius  Bagshaw,  "what  a  delightful  day  shall 
we  have  on  the  24th,  after  all  the  pains  we  have  taken 
to  make  it  so  !"     Alas  !  poor  Mr.  Claudius  Bagshaw  ! 

It  was  now  within  three  days  of  the  important  24th. 

Mr.  Bagshaw,  who  had  been  appointed  to  hire  a  boat, 

and  make  the  most  economical  arrangement  he  could 

about  the  fare,   went  down    to  Westminster  Bridge. 

13* 


150 

He  was  instantly  surrounded  by  a  dozen  of  the  gentle- 
men who  habitually  congregate  at  that  place.  "Boat, 
your  honour — all  ready,  your  honour."  Mr.  Bagshaw 
explained.  He  came  to  "  engage  a  boat,  barge,  or  other 
aquatic  vehicle,  of  sufficient  capacity  to  convey  a  party 
of  fourteen  to  Twickenham  and  back: — what  would 
be  the  remuneration  required?"  A  stout,  impudent, 
half-drunken  fellow,  thrust  himself  forward,  shouting, 
"  I'm  your  man  for  five  guineas."  Mr.  Bagshaw's 
only  reply  to  this  was,  "  You  are  an  extortionate 
scoundrel."  Hereupon,  the  "jolly  young  waterman" 
struck  Mr.  Bagshaw  a  violent  blow  on  the  right  eye. 
Mr.  Bagshaw  proceeded  to  the  nearest  police-office, 
and  stated  his  complaint  ;  in  consequence  of  which  a 
warrant  was  issued  to  bring  up  the  offender  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning.  The  following  morning  Mr.  Bag- 
shaw, wearing  a  green  shade,  (his  right  eye  much 
swollen,  and  the  other  considerably  inflamed,)  appear- 
ed before  the  magistrate,  and  with  much  literary,  scien- 
tific, and  philosophical  circumlocution,  repeated  his 
charge  ;  but  "  poor  Jack"  declaring  that  the  complain- 
ant began  by  using  very  ungenteel.  language  to  him  ; 
and  five  other  Jacks  swearing  point  blank  that  the 
complainant  struck  the  first  bloiv  !  the  magistrate  was 
clearly  of  opinion  that  complainant  was  the  aggressor; 
that  the  parties  had  better  settle  the  affair  out  of  doors  ; 
still,  if  the  waterman  insisted  on  prosecuting,  he,  the 
magistrate,  was  bound  to  hold  Mr.  Bagshaw  to  bail. 
The  parties  retired,  and  Jack  consented  to  abandon  all 
farther  proceedings,  "  on  condition  as  how  the  gentle- 
man would  give  him  a  five-pound  note."  There  are 
few  misfortunes  under  which  a  wise  man  will  not  find 
some  topic  of  consolation  ;  and  Claudius  Bagshaw  con- 
soled himself  with  the  reflection  that  a  really  pleasant 
day  is  not  attainable  but  at  some  little  inconvenience. 

Resdess  and  impatient  though  you  be,  depend  upon 
it  there  is  not  a  day  of  the  whole  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  will  put  itself  in  the  slightest  degree  out  of 
the  way,  or  appear  one  second  before  its  appointed 
time  for  your  gratification.     0  that  people  would  con- 


151 

sider  this,  and  wait  events  with  patience  !  Certainly 
Mr.  Bagshaw  did  not.  The  night  of  the  23d  to  him 
appeared  an  age.  His  repeater  was  in  his  hand  every 
ten  minutes.  He  thought  the  morning  would  never 
dawn,  but  he  was  mistaken :  it  did  ;  and  as  fine  a 
morning  as  if  it  had  been  made  on  purpose  to  favour 
his  excursion.  By  six  o'clock  he  was  dressed  !  By 
eight  the  contributions  from  all  the  members  had  ar- 
rived, and  were  ranged  in  the  passage.  There  was 
their  own  pigeon-pie  carefully  packed  in  brown  paper 
and  straw  ;  Sir  Thomas's  hamper  of  his  own  choice 
wine  ;  and  the  rest.  Everything  promised  fairly.  The 
young  ladies  and  Mr.  Frederick  had  had  thirty  rehear- 
sals of  their  grand  arias  and  concertos,  and  were  per- 
fect to  a  demi-semiquaver  ;  Jack  Richards  would  cer- 
tainly come  ;  and  the  only  drawback  upon  Mr.  Bag- 
shaw's  personal  enjoyment — but  nothing  in  this  world 
is  perfect  1 — was  the  necessity  he  was  under  of  wear- 
ing his  green  shade,  which  would  totally  deprive  him 
of  the  pleasure  of  contemplating  the  beauties  of  the 
Thames'  scenery  ;  a  thing  he  had  set  his  heart  upon, 
Nine  !  Ten  !  "  No  one  here  yet !  Jane,  my  love,  we 
shall  infallibly  lose  the  tide ;"  and  for  the  next  quarter 
of  an  hour  the  place  of  the  poor  repeater  was  no  sine- 
cure. A  knock  !  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Snodgrass  and  Mr. 
Frederick.  Another  !  The  whole  family  of  the  Grout- 
ses.     Next  came  Mr.  Charles  Wrench. 

"  Bless  us  !  Mr.  Charles,"  said  Bagshaw,  "  where 
is  your  father  ?" 

Now  Mr.  Wrench,  senior,  was  an  agreeable  old 
dentist,  always  gay,  generally  humorous,  sometimes 
witty  :  he  could  sketch  characters  as  well  as  draw 
teeth  ;  and,  on  occasions  of  this  kind,  was  invaluable. 
The  son  was  a  mere — donkey  :  a  silly,  simpering, 
well-dressed  young  gentleman,  the  owner  of  not  more 
than  the  eighth  of  an  idea,  and  of  a  very  fine  set  of 
teeth,  which  he  constantly  exhibited  like  a  sign  or  ad- 
vertisement of  his  shop.  Appended  to  everything  he 
uttered  were  a  preface  and  postcript,  in  the  form  of  a 
sort  of  billy-goat  grin.     "  Ke  !  he  !  he  !  he  !  fayther 


152 

regrets  emezingly  he  caint  come,  being  called  to  attind 
the  Duchess  of  Dilborough.  He  !  he  !  he  !  he  !'  " 
As  we  have  already  said  that  it  was  in  pure  compli- 
ment to  the  father  that  the  son  was  invited,  and  not  at 
all  for  the  sake  of  his  own  company,  his  presence  was 
a  grievous  aggravation  of  the  disappointment. 

The  next  knock  announced  Miss  Snubbleston.  But 
where  was  her  carriage  ?  Why,  it  had  been  newly 
varnished,  and  they  might  scratch  her  pannels  with 
the  hampers  ;  and  then  she  was  afraid  of  her  springs. 
So  here  was  Miss  Snubbleston  without  her  carriage, 
(for  the  convenience  of  which  alone  she  had  been  in- 
vited,) considered,  by  the  rest,  in  exactly  the  same 
light  as  young  Mr.  Wrench  without  old  Mr.  Wrench, 
— id  est,  a  damper.  A  new  arrangement  was  the  ne- 
cessary consequence  ;  and  the  baskets,  under  the  su- 
perintendence of  a  servant,  were  jolted  down  in  a  hack- 
ney coach,  to  be  embarked  at  Westminster.  But  Miss 
Snubbleston  brought  with  her  a  substitute  which  was 
by  no  means  a  compensation.  Cupid,  her  wretched, 
little,  barking,  yelping,  Dutch  pug,  had  eaten  some- 
thing that  had  disagreed  with  him,  and  his  fair  mis- 
tress would  not,  "  for  worlds,"  have  left  him  at  home 
whilst  he  was  so  indisposed.  Well,  no  one  chose  to 
be  the  first  to  object  to  the  intruder,  so  Cupid  was  re- 
ceived. 

"  But  where  can  Uncle  John  and  his  friend  be  ? 
We  shall  lose  the  tide,  that's  certain,"  was  scarcely 
uttered  by  Mr.  Bagshaw,  when  in  came  our  Uncle,  to- 
gether with  the  long-expected  Jack  Richards.  The 
usual  introductions  over,  Mr.  Richards  saluted  every 
body  with  the  self-sufficient  swagger  of  a  vulgar  lion. 
11  The  day  smiles  auspicious,  Sir,"  said  Bagshaw,  who 
thought  it  requisite  he  should  throw  off  something  fine 
to  so  celebrated  a  person.  "  Smile  ?  a  broad  grin  /  call 
it,  Sir."  And  here  was  a  general  laugh.  "  Oh,  ex- 
cellent!" — "Capital!"  Uncle  John,  proud  of  his 
friend,  whispered  in  Bagshaw's  ear,  "  You  see,  Jack's 
beginning."  And  now,  hats  and  gloves  were  in  mo- 
motion. 


153 

"  You  have  got  your  flute,  Frederick  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Lau  !  Ma,"  cried  Miss  Corinna,  "  if  I  haven't 
come  without  '  Sweet  bird,'  and  ray  scena  from  ■  Me- 
dea,' I  declare." 

As  these  were  indispensable  to  the  amusements  of 
the  day,  a  servant  was  despatched  for  them.  He 
could'nt  be  gone  longer  than  half  an  hour. 

"  Half  an  hour !"  thought  Bagshaw  ;  "  'tis  eleven 

now  ;  and  the  tide ."     But  the  servant  was  absent 

a  few  minutes  beyond  the  half  hour,  and  poor  Bagshaw 
suffered  severely  from  that  gnawing  impatience, 
amounting  almost  to  pain,  which  every  mother's  son 
of  us  has  experienced  upon  occasions  of  greater — or 
less  importance  than  this. 

They  were  again  at  the  very  point  of  starting,  when 
a  message  was  brought  to  Mrs.  Snodgrass  that  little 
Master  Charles,  had  cut  his  thumb  dreadfully  !  "What 
was  to  be  done  \  Mrs.  Snodgrass  vowed  she  shouldn't 
be'easy  in  her  mind  the  whole  day,  unless  she  knew 
the  extent  of  the  mischief;  and  as  they  only  lived 
in  Euston-square,  and  she  could  be  there  and  back 
again  in  twenty  minutes,  she  would  herself  go  see 
what  really  was  the  matter  :  and  away  she  went. 
Twenty  minutes  !  During  all  this  time,  Bagshaw — 
but  who  would  attempt  to  describe  anguish  indescriba- 
ble !  At  length  he  was  relieved  by  the  return  of  Mrs. 
Snodgrass  ;  but,  to  the  horror  and  consternation  of 
himself,  and  of  all  present,  she  introduced  the  aforesaid 
Master  Charles, — an  ugly,  ill-tempered,  blubbering 
little  brat  of  seven  years  old,  with  a  bloated  red  face, 
scrubby  white  hair,  and  red  eyes  ;  and  with  the  inte- 
resting appendage  of  a  thick  slice  of  bread  and  butter  in 
his  hand.  "I'm  sure  you'll  pardon  this  liberty,"  said 
the  affectionate  Mama ;  "  but  poor  Charley  has  cut 
himself  very  much,  and  he  would  not  be  pacified  till  I 
consented  to  take  him  with  us.  He  has  promised  to 
be  very  good.  There,  don't  cry  any  more,  darling!" 
and  accordingly,  the  urchin  roared  with  ten-fold  vigour. 
There  were  no  particular  manifestations  of  joy  at  this 


154 

arrival ;  and  it  is  just  possible,  although  nothing  was 
uttered  to  that  effect,  that  there  did  exist  a  general  and 
cordial  wish  that  young  Master  Snodgrass  were  sprawl- 
ing at  the  bottom  of  the  deepest  well  in  England.  Un- 
cle John,  indeed,  did  mutter  something  about  "  the  pug 
and  the  child — two  such  nuisances — people  bringing 
their  brats  into  grown-up  company  !" 

At  length  the  procession  set  out ;  the  Bagshaws, 
Uncle  John,  and  Jack  Richards  bringing  up  the  rear  in 
a  hackney-coach.  On  reaching  the  corner  of  the  street, 
Mrs.  Bagshaw  called  out  to  the  driver  to  stop. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?"  said  Bagshaw. 

"  Your  eye-lotion,  love." 

"  Well,  never  mind  that,  sweet." 

"  Claudius,  I  shall  be  miserable  if  you  go  without 
it.  Dr.  Nooth  desired  you  would  use  it  every  two 
hours.  I  must  insist — now.  for  my  sake,  love — Such 
an  eye  as  he  has  got,  Mr.  Richards  !"  So  away  went 
Bagshaw  to  Lake  of  Lausanne  Lodge  for  the  lotion, 
which,  as  it  always  happens  when  folks  are  in  a  hurry 
it  took  him  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  find. 

They  were  now  fairly  on  the  road. 

"  What  a  smell  of  garlick  !"  exclaimed  Uncle  John  ; 
"  it  is  intolerable  !" 

"Dear  me !"  said  Mr.  Richards,  "  do  you  perceive 
it  ?  'Tis  a  fine  Italian  sausage  I  bought  at  Morel's,  as 
my  contribution.  We  shall  find  it  an  excellent  relish 
in  the  country  ;"  and  he  exhibited  his  purchase,  en- 
veloped in  a  brown  paper. 

"  Psha  !  shocking!  'tis  a  perfect  nuisance  !  Put  it 
into  your  pocket  again,  or  throw  it  out  at  window." 
But  Mr.  Richards  preferred  obeying  the  first  com- 
mand. 

"  Apropos  of  contributions,  Uncle,  have  you  brought 
your  spoons  ?" 

'*  Here  they  are,"  replied  Uncle  ;  at  the  same  time 
drawing  from  his  pocket  a  parcel  in  size  and  form 
very  closely  resembling  Mr.  Richard's  offensive  con- 
tribution. 

On  arriving  at  Westminster  Bridge,  they  found  the 


155 

rest  of  the  party  already  seated  in  the  barge,  and  the 
first  sound  that  saluted  their  ears  was  an  intimation 
that,  owing  to  their  being  two  hours  behind  time  (it 
was  now  past  twelve,)  they  should  hardly  save  the 
tide.  "I  knew  it  would  be  so,"  said  Bagshaw,  with 
more  of  discontent  than  he  had  thought  to  experience, 
considering  the  pains  he  had  taken  that  everything 
should  be  well-ordered. 

As  Uncle  John  was  stepping  into  the  boat,  Richards, 
with  great  dexterity,  exchanged  parcels  with  him,  put- 
ting the  Italian  sausage  into  Uncle  John's  pocket  and 
the  spoons  into  his  own;  enhancing  the  wit  of  the 
manoeuvre  by  the  whispering  to  the  Bagshaws.  who, 
widi  infinite  delight,  had  observed  it,  "  Hang  me  but 
he  shall  have  enough  of  the  garlick  !"  The  old  gen- 
tleman was  quite  unconscious  of  the  operation,  as 
Richards  adroitly  diverted  his  attention  from  it  by 
giving  him  one  of  his  facetious  pokes  in  the  ribs,  which 
nearly  bent  him  double,  and  drew  a  roar  of  laughter 
from  every  one  else. 

Just  as  they  were  pushing  off,  their  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  loud  howling.  It  proceeded  from  a  large 
Newfoundland  dog,  which  was  standing  at  the  water's 
edge.  "  Confound  it  !"  cried  Richards,  "  that's  my 
Carlo  !  He  has  followed  me,  un perceived,  all  the  way 
from  home — I  would  not  lose  him  for  fifty  pounds.  I 
must  take  him  back — pray  put  me  ashore.  This  is 
very  provoking — though  he  is  a  very  quiet  dog!" 
There  was  no  mistaking  this  hint.  Already  were  there 
two  nuisances  on  board — Master  Charles  and  the 
Dutch  pug  ;  but  as  they  were  to  choose  between  Jack 
Richards  with  his  dog,  or  no  Jack  Richards,  (or,  in 
other  words,  no  'life  and  soul  of  the  party,')  it  was 
presently  decided  that  Carlo  should  be  invited  to  a  seat 
on  the  hampers,  which  were  stowed  at  the  head  of  the 
boat — Uncle  John  having  first  extracted  from  Mr. 
Richards  an  assurance  that  their  new  guest  would  lie 
there  as  still  as  a  mouse.  This  complaisance  was  am- 
ply rewarded  by  a  speedy  display  of  Mr.  Richards's 
powers  of  entertainment.      As  soon  as  they  reached 


156 

the  middle  of  the  river,  Jack  Richards  suddenly  jump- 
ed up,  for  the  purpose  of  frightening  Miss  Snubbleston  ; 
a  jest  at  which  every  body  else  would  have  laughed, 
had  not  their  own  lives  been  endangered  by  it.  Even 
his  great  admirer  suggested  to  him  that  once  of  that 
was  enough.  His  next  joke  was  one  of  a  more  intel- 
lectual character.  Though  he  had  never  till  this  day 
seen  Sir  Thomas,  he  had  heard  something  about  his 
former  trade.  "  What  is  the  difference  between  Lord 
Eldon  and  Sir  Thomas  Grouts  ?"  Nobody  could  tell. 
"  One  is  an  ex-chancellor — the  other  is  an  ex-chand- 
ler." Every  body  laughed,  except  the  Grouts  family. 
This  was  succeeded  by  another  thrust  in  Uncle  John's 
side;  after  which  came  a  pun,  which  we  shall  not  re- 
cord, as  the  effect  of  it  was  to  force  the  ladies  to  cough 
and  look  into  the  water,  the  gentlemen  to  look  at  each 
other,  and  Mrs.  Snodgrass  to  whisper  Mrs.  Bagshaw, 
"  Who  is  this  Mr.  Richards  ?"  Indeed,  there  would 
have  been  no  end  to  his  pleasantries  had  they  not  been 
interrupted  by  a  request  that  Miss  Corinna  would  open 
the  concert,  as  they  were  fast  approaching  Vauxall 
Bridge.  Mr.  Bagshaw  (looking  at  the  programme, 
which  he  had  drawn  out  on  paper  ruled  with  red  and 
blue  lines,)  objected  to  this,  as  it  would  disturb  the 
previous  arrangement,  according  to  which  the  concert 
was  not  to  commence  till  they  were  through  the 
bridge.  This  objection  was  overruled,  and  the  fair 
Corinna  unrolled  the  music  for  which  the  servant  had 
been  despatched  with  so  much  haste.  Miss  Corinna 
screamed  !  '  What  was  the  matter  ?" — "  They  had 
not  sent  the  grand  scena  from  '  Medea,'  after  all,  but  a 
wrong  piece  !  And  the  pains  she  had  taken  to  be  per- 
fect in  it !"--"  Could  not  Miss  Corinna  sing  it  from 
memory  ?" — "  Impossible  !" — "  How  careless  of  you, 
Corinna  !  then  sing  what  they  have  sent." — "  Why, 
Ma',"  said  Corinna,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  hold- 
ing up  the  unfortunate  sheets,  "  why,  bless  me,  Ma', 
I  can't  sing  the  overture  to  '  Der  Freyschutz  !'  "  The 
difficulty  of  such  a  performance  being  readily  admitted, 
Mr.  Frederick  Snodgrass  declared  himself  "  but  too 


■ 


157 

happy"  to  comply  with  the  call  for  his  concerto  in  live 
sharp's,  which  stood  next  on  the  list;  and  with  the  air 
of  one  well  satisfied  that  an  abundance  of  admiration 
and  applause  would  reward  his  efforts,  he  drew  forth 
his  flute,  when,  lo  !  one  of  the  joints  was  missing ! 
This  accident  was  nearly  fatal  to  the  musical  enter- 
tainments of  the  day  ;  for  not  only  was  the  concerto 
thereby  rendered  impracticable,  but  "  Sweet  Bird," 
with  the  flute-accompaniment  obligato,  was  put  hors 
de  combat.  Disappointment  having,  by  this,  been  car- 
ried to  its  uttermost  bounds,  the  announcement  that 
two  strings  of  the  guitar  had  "  gone,"  was  received 
with  an  indifference  almost  stoical ;  and  every  one  was 
grateful  to  Miss  Euphemia  for  so  willingly  undertak- 
ing (the  whispered  menaces  of  Lady  Grouts  being 
heard  by  nobody  but  the  young  lady  herself,)  to  do 
all  that  could  be  done  under  such  untoward  circum- 
stances. She  would  endeavour  to  accompany  herself 
through  a  little  ballad  ;  and  thus  it  proceeded  : — 
O  leave  me  (twang)  to  my  sorrow,  (twang  twang). 

"  Dear  me  !" 

For  my  soul  (twang) 

"Div'ltake  it!" 

is  heavy  (twang)  to-day  ;  (twang  twang) 

i(  I  told  you,  Mama,  I  couldn't." 
0  leave  me  (twang) 

M  There's  another  string  gone  !" 

and  to-morrow  (twang) 

11  You  see  it  is  nothing  without  an  accompaniment." 
These  dark  clouds  (twang) 

11  You  really  must  excuse  me  ;"  and  away  went  the 
guitar. 

Mr.  Claudius  Bagshaw,  with  all  his  literature, 
science,  and  philosophy,  now,  for  the  first  time,  won- 
dered how  anything  could  fail,  so  much  trouble  having 
been  taken  to  ensure  success.  Drawing  forth  his  re- 
peater, he  a-hem'd  !  and  just  muttered,  "Unaccounta- 
ble !  Hem  !  upon  my  word  !  One  o'clock,  and  no 
pleasure  yet !" 

11  One  o'clock !"  echoed  his  spouse  ;  "  then  'tis  time 
14 


158 

for  your  eye,  dear !"  and  Bagshaw  was  compelled  not 
only  to  suffer  his  damaged  optics  to  be  dabbled  by  his 
tormentingly-affectionate  wife,  but  to  submit  again  to 
be  hoodwinked,  in  sptte  of  his  entreaties  to  the  con- 
trary, and  his  pathetic  assurances  that  he  had  not  yet 
seen  a  bit  of  the  prospect ;  a  thing  he  had  set  his  heart 
upon.  Now  occurred  a  dead  silence  of  some  minutes. 
A  steam-boat  rushed  by.  Bagshaw  seized  this  oppor- 
tunity to  make  a  display  of  his  scientific  acquirements  ; 
and  this  he  did  with  the  greater  avidity,  as  he  had  long 
wished  to  astonish  Vice-president  Snodgrass.  Besides, 
in  the  event  of  his  offering  to  deliver  a  course  of  lec- 
tures at  the  Institution,  the  Vice-president  might  bear 
evidence  to  his  capabilities  for  the  purpose — his  ac- 
quaintance not  only  with  the  facts,  but  with  the  terms 
of  science.  Whether  those  terms  were  always  cor- 
rectly applied,  we  confess  ourselves  not  sufficiently 
learned  to  pronounce. 

"  How  wondrous  is  the  science  of  mechanism  !  how 
variegated  its  progeny,  how,  simple,  yet  how  com- 
pound !  I  am  propelled  to  the  consideration  of  this 
subject  by  having  optically  perceived  that  ingenious 
nautical  instrument,  which  has  just  now  flown  along 
like  a  mammoth,  that  monster  of  the  deep  !  You  ask 
me  how  are  steam-boats  propagated  ?  in  other  words, 
how  is  such  an  infinite  and  immovable  body  inveigled 
along  its  course  ?  I  will  explain  it  to  you.  It  i3  by 
the  power  of  friction  :  that  is  to  say,  the  two  wheels, 
or  paddles,  turning  diametrically,  or  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, on  their  axioms,  and  repressing  by  the  rotundity 
of  their  motion  the  action  of  the  menstruum  in  which 
the  machine  floats, — water  being,  in  a  philosophical 
sense,  a  powerful  non-conductor, — it  is  clear,  that  in 
proportion  as  is  the  revulsion  so  is  the  progression  ; 
and  as  is  the  centrifugal  force,  so  is  the — ." 

"  Pooh  !"  cried  Uncle  John,  "  let  us  have  some 
music." 

"  I  have  an  apprehension,  Bagshaw,"  said  the  Vice- 
president — "  though  I  should  not  presume  to  dispute 
with  you — that  you  are  wrong  in  your  theory  of  the 


159 

centrifugal  force  of  the  axioms.  However,  we  will  dis- 
cuss that  point  at  the  Grand-Junction.  But  come, 
Frederick,  the  '  Dettingen  Te  Deum.'  ' 

Frederick  and  the  young  ladies  having,  by  many 
rehearsals,  perfected  themselves  in  the  performance  of 
this  piece,  instantly  complied.  Scarcely  had  they 
reached  the  fourth  bar,  when  Jack  Richards,  who  had 
not  for  a  long  time  perpetrated  a  joke,  produced  a 
harsh,  brassy-toned,  German  Eolina,  and 

"  Blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  shrill," 

that  the  Dutch  pug  began  to  bark,  Carlo  to  howl,  and 
the  other  nuisance,  master  Charles,  to  cry.  The  Ger- 
man Eolina  was  of  itself  bad  enough,  but  these  con- 
gregated noises  were  intolerable.  Uncle  John  aimed 
a  desperate  blow  with  a  large  apple,  which  he  was  just 
about  to  bite,  at  the  head  of  Carlo,  who,  in  order  to 
give  his  lungs  fair  play,  was  standing  on  all  fours  on 
the  hampers.  The  apple  missed  the  dog,  and  went 
some  distance  beyond  him  into  the  water.  Mr.  Carlo, 
attributing  to  Uncle  John  a  kinder  feeling  than  that 
which  actually  prompted  the  proceeding,  looked  upon 
it  as  a  good-natured  expedient  to  afford  him  an  oppor- 
tunity of  adding  his  mite  to  the  amusements  of  the  day, 
by  displaying  a  specimen  of  his  training.  Without 
waiting  for  a  second  hint,  he  plunged  into  the  river, 
seized  the  apple,  and,  paddling  up  to  the  side  of  the 
boat  with  the  prize  triumphantly  exhibited  in  his  jaws, 
to  the  consternation  of  the  whole  party,  he  scrambled 
in  between  Uncle  John  and  his  master,  dropped  the 
apple  upon  the  floor,  distributed  a  copious  supply  of 
Thames'  water  amongst  the  affrighted  beholders, 
squeezed  his  way  through  them  as  best  he  could,  and, 
with  an  air  of  infinite  self-satisfaction,  resumed  his 
place  on  the  hampers. 

Had  Mr.  Jack  Richards,  the  owner  of  the  dog,  been 
at  the  bottom  of  the  Thames  a  "week  before  this  de- 
lightful 24th,  not  one  of  the  party,  Mr.  Richards  him- 
self excepted,  would  have  felt  in  the  slightest  degree 


160 

concerned ;  but  since,  with  a  common  regard  to  polite- 
ness, they  could  not  explicitly  tell  him  so,  they  con- 
tented themselves  with  bestowing  upon  Mr.  Carlo 
every  term  of  opprobium,  every  form  of  execration, 
which  good-manners  would  allow — leaving  it  to  the 
sagacity  of  "  the  life  and  soul  of  the  company"  to  ap- 
ply them  to  himself,  if  so  it  might  be  agreeable  to  him. 
Poor  fellow  !  he  felt  the  awkwardness  of  his  situation, 
and  figuratively,  as  well  as  literally  speaking,  this  ex- 
ploit of  his  dog  threw  a  damp  upon  him,  as  it  had 
done  upon  every  one  else. 

For  some  time,  the  Pic-nics  pursued  their  way  in 
solemn  silence.  At  length,  Bagshaw,  perceiving  that 
there  would  be  very  little  pleasure  if  matters  were  al- 
lowed to  go  on- in  this  way,  exclaimed,  "An  intelli- 
gent observer,  not  imbued  with  the  knowledge  of  our 
intentions,  would  indicate  us  to  be  a  combination  of 
perturbed  spirits,  rowed  by  Charon  across  the  river 
Tiber." 

In  eases  of  this  kind,  the  essential  is  to  break  the 
ice.  Conversation  was  now  resumed.  "  Ah  !  ha  !" 
said  the  Vice-president,  "  Sion  House." 

"  The  residuum  of  the  Northumberlands,"  said 
Claudius,  "  one  of  the  most  genealogical  and  antique 
families  in  England."  And  here,  having  put  forth  so 
much  classical  and  historical  lore,  almost  in  a  breath, 
he  marked  his  own  satisfaction  by  a  short,  single  cough. 
The  Vice-president  said  nothing,  but  he  thought  to 
himself,  "  There  is  much  more  in  this  Bagshaw  than 
I  suspected." 

Jack  Richards  was  up  again.  "  Come,  what's  done 
can't  be  helped  ;  but,  upon  my  soul  !  I  am  sorry  at 
being  the  innccent  cause  of  throwing  cold  water  on  the 
party." 

"  Cold  water,  indeed  !  look  at  me,  Sir,"  said  Miss 
Snubbleston,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  exhibiting  her 
ci-devant  shoulder-of-mutton  sleeves,  which,  but  half 
an  hour  before,  as  stiff  and  stately  as  starch  could  make 
them,  were  now  hanging  loose  and  flabby  about  her 
skinny  arms. 


161 

"  Too  bad,  Jack,  to  bring  that  cursed  Carlo  of 
yours  !"  Carlo,  perceiving  that  he  was  the  subject  of 
conversation,  was  instantly  on  his  legs,  his  eye  steadi- 
ly fixed  upon  Uncle  John,  evidently  expecting  a  sig- 
nal for  a  second  plunge.  The  alarm  was  general,  and 
every  tongue  joined  in  the  scream  of  "Lie  down,  sir! 
lie  down!" 

Uncle  John,  whose  nostrils  had  been  more  than  once 
offended  by  the  odour  from  his  friend's  garlick  sausage, 
and  who  had  on  each  and  every  such  occasion  vented 
an  exclamation  of  disgust,  to  the  great  amusement  of 
Mr.  Richards,  (who  chuckled  with  delight  to  think  of 
the  exchange  he  had  secretly  effected,)  here,  in  the 
very  middle  of  the  stream,  resolved  to  rid  himself  of 
the  annoyance.  Unperceived  by  any  one,  he  gently 
drew  the  parcel  from  Richards's  coat-pocket,  and  let 
it  drop  into  the  water  !  Like  King  Richards's  pierced 
coffin,  once  in,  it  soon  found  the  way  to  the  bottom. 
Uncle  John  could  scarcely  restrain  his  inclination  to 
laugh  aloud  ;  however,  he  contrived  to  assume  an  air 
of  indifference,  and  whistled  part  of  a  tune. 

Arrived  at  Twickenham,  the  boatmen  were  ordered 
to  pull  up  to  a  beautiful  meadow,  sloping  down  to  the 
water's  edge.  'Twas  the  very  thing  for  them  !  In  an 
instant  they  were  all  ashore  ;  and  the  hampers  were 
placed  near  a  large  tree,  beneath  whose  spreading 
boughs  they  resolved  to  take  their  rural  meal.  The 
invention  of  eating  and  drinking  is  one  of  which  much 
may  be  said  both  pro  and  con  ;  that  it  is  excessively 
vulgar  we  at  once  admit ;  but  there  is  this  in  its  favour, 
that  the  near  prospect  of  a  good  dinner  does  much  to- 
wards the  restoration  of  suspended  harmony  ;  and 
savage  must  be  his  heart,  his  very  nature  uncharitable 
and  unforgiving,  who  feels  no  touch  of  kindness  for, 
or  sympathy  with,  his  fellow-creatures  at  the  sound  of 
the  dinner-bell.  The  beneficial  effect  of  the  approach- 
ing repast  was  evident  now.  They  shook  hands  with 
each  other  ;  spoke  with  some  degree  of  composure  of 
the  failure  of  the  concert ;  alluded  to  their  wetting  as 
a  mere  trifle  ;  caressed  Carlo  ;  refrained  from  throwing 
14* 


162 

the  yelping,  barking,  Dutch  pug  into  the  Thames  ; 
and  some  of  them  even  patted  the  scrubby  white  head 
of  Master  Charles.  "  Well,"  said  Bagshaw,  "  I  knew 
our  pains  and  trouble  would  be  rewarded  ;  we  shall 
have  a  pleasant  day  after  all." 

They  were  just  preparing  to  open  their  packages 
when  a  servant  came  running  towards  them.  "  Beg 
pardon,  gentlemen  ;  don't  you  see  that  post  ?"  and  he 
directed  their  attention  to  a  signboard  bearing  the  hos- 
pitable notice  that  any  person,  or  persons,  landing  to 
dine  in  those  meadows,  would  be  prosecuted. 

"  But,"  said  Bagshaw,  "  what  damage  or  deteriora- 
tion of  property  can  we  possibly  inflict  ?" — "  Don't 
know,  Sir;  but  Sir  Gregory  Grumpy  does  not  like  his 
grass  to  be  greased  ail  over  with  ham  and  chicken." 
Remonstrance  was  in  vain  ;  so  they  re-embarked  their 
"  provender"  and  themselves,  and  pulled  farther  up 
the  river.  Bagshaw  looked  at  his  repeater,  and  shook 
his  head. 

The  next  place  at  which  they  attempted  a  landing 
was  equally  prohibited,  though  the  prohibition  appear- 
ed in  the  more  polite  form  of  an  invitation  :  "  You  are 
requested  not  to  dine  here."  Now,  with  respect  to 
these  prohibitions,  as  about  eating  and  drinking,  some- 
thing may  be  said  on  both  sides.  Neither  Mr.  Bag- 
shaw, nor  any  of  his  party,  (with  the  exception,  per- 
haps, of  Jack  Richards,)  would  have  pulled  up  the 
grass,  or  mutilated  the  trees,  or  broken  down  the  hedges, 
or  poked  their  noses  in  at  Sir  Gregory  Grumpy's 
dining-room  windows  ;  but  we  know  that  certain  per- 
sons have  committed  such  indiscretions  :  and  that  is 
the  best  excuse  we  can  imagine  for  what  would  other- 
wise appear  to  be  a  churlish  proceeding. 

At  last,  however,  they  discovered  an  undefended 
spot,  and  of  this  they  took  possession.  There  was  no 
time  to  lose — they  had  had  no  pleasure  yet — so  Bag- 
shaw entreated  that  every  one  would  M  put  his  shoul- 
der to  the  wheel,  and  be  on  the  qui  va  /«."  In  an 
instant  a  large  heavy  hamper  was  landed,  but,  as  in 
compliance   with   Bagshaw's  request  every  one   did 


163 

something  to  help,  a  scene  of  confusion  was  the  con- 
sequence, and  numerous  pieces  of  crockery  were  in- 
valided ere  the  cloth  was  properly  spread,  and  the 
dishes,  plates,  and  glasses  distributed.  But  for  the 
feast.  Mr.  Snodgrass's  basket  was  opened,  and  out  of 
it  were  taken  four  remarkably  fine  chickens,  and  a 
tongue — uncooked  !  There  was  but  one  mode  of  ac- 
counting for  this  trifling  omission.  Mr.  Snodgrass's 
Betty  was  a  downright  matter-of-fact  person,  who 
obeyed  oders  to  the  very  letter.  Having  been  told,  the 
evening  before,  to  get  four  fine  chickens  for  roasting, 
together  with  a  tongue,  and  to  pack  them,  next  morn- 
ing, in  a  basket,  she  did  so  literally  and  strictly ;  but, 
as  she  had  received  no  distinct  orders  to  dress  them, 
to  have  done  so  she  would  have  deemed  an  imperti- 
nent departure  from  her  instructions.  Well ;  since  peo- 
ple in  a  high  state  of  civilization,  like  Mr.  Claudius 
Bagshaw  and  his  friends,  cannot  eat  raw  chickens, 
they  did  the  only  thing  they  could  under  the  circum- 
stances— they  grumbled  exceedingly,  and  put  them 
back  again  into  the  basket.  This  was  a  serious  de- 
duction in  the  important  point  of  quantity,  and  Uncle 
John  felt  a  slight  touch  of  remorse  at  having  thrown, 
as  he  thought,  his  friend's  Italian  sausage  into  the 
Thames.  However,  there  was  still  provision  in  the 
garrison.  But  the  run  of  luck  in  events,  as  at  a  game 
of  whist,  may  be  against  you  ;  and  when  it  is  so,  be 
assured  that  human  prudence  and  foresight  (remarka- 
ble as  even  Mrs.  Bagshaw's  who  bespoke  her  pigeons 
seven  weeks  before  she  wanted  them,)  avail  but  little. 
When  the  packages  were  first  stowed  in  the  boat,  the 
pigeon-pie  was  inadvertently  placed  at  the  bottom,  and 
everything  else,  finishing  with  the  large  heavy  hamp- 
er of  crockery,  with  Carlo  on  that,  upon  it ;  so  that 
when  it  was  taken  up  it  appeared  a  chaotic  mass  of 
pie-crust,  broken  china,  pigeons,  brown  paper,  beef- 
steak, eggs,  and  straw  !  "  Now  this  is  enough  to 
provoke  a  saint,"  said  Bagshaw  ;  and  no  one  attempt- 
ing to  deny  the  position,  with  this  salvo  for  his  own 
character  of  philosophic  patience,  he  indulged  himself 


164 

in  the  full  expression  of  his  vexation  and  sorrow.  Af- 
ter a  minute  examination,  he  declared  the  pie  to  be  "a 
complete  squash,"  and  that  nobody  could  venture  to 
eat  it  but  at  the  imminent  risk  of  being  choked.  As 
he  was  about  to  throw  it  over  the  hedge,  Miss  Snub- 
bleston,  seized  with  an  unusual  fit  of  generosity,  called 
out  to  him,  "  What  are  you  doing  ?  Though  it  isn't 
fit  for  us  to  eat,  it  will  be  quite  a  treat  to  the  poor 
watermen.  I  dare  say,  poor  souls,  they  don't  often 
get  pigeon-pie."  But  the  good  genius  of  Mr.  Carlo 
prevailed;  and  the  truth  of  the  adage,  ""lis  an  ill 
wind  that  blows  nobody  good,"  was  confirmed  in  his 
mind  as  he  found  himself  busily  employed  in  the  in- 
genious operation  of  separating  pigeon  from  porcelain. 
It  was,  doubtless,  extremely  ill-bred  in  one  dog  not  to 
invite  another,  and  Cupid  expressed  his  sense  of  the 
slight  by  a  long-continued  yell,  which  drew  down 
upon  him,  from  the  equally  disappointed  bipeds  of  the 
company,  sundry  wishes,  the  positive  accomplishment 
of  which  would  not  have  tended  much  to  his  personal 
happiness.  The  next  basket  was  opened.  Things 
were  not  altogether  in  a  desperate  state.  Mr.  Wrench's 
ham  was  in  perfect  order,  and  that,  with  Miss  Snub- 
bleston's  salad,  and  some  bread  and— — Could  it  be 
possible  !  After  so  much  preparation,  and  Mr.  Bag- 
shaw's  committee  of  "  provender"  to  boot,  that  no  one 
should  have  thought  of  so  obvious  a  requisite  as  bread  ! 
There  would  not  be  time  to  send  Mr.  Bagshaw  to 
Twickenham  town  to  procure  some,  for  it  was  getting 
late  ;  and  if  they  lost  the  tide,  they  should  be  on  the 
water  till  midnight,  and  they  did  not  like  the  appear- 
ance of  the  sky,  which  was  by  no  means  so  blue  as  it 
had  hitherto  bnen.  However,  the  want  of  bread  did 
not  much  signify :  they  could  make  a  shift  with  Miss 
Snubbleston's  biscuits  and  pound-cakes.  But  Uncle 
John  did  not  come  out  on  an  excursion  of  pleasure  to 
make  shift ;  no  more  did  Bagshaw,  nor  more  did  any 
of  the  others.  There  was  nothing  else  to  be  done  :  so 
where  is  Miss  Snubbleston's  basket  ?  And  where  is 
Master  Charles  ?     Gracious  !     Don't  be  alarmed,  the 


165 

precious  rarity  is  in  no  danger.  He  was  soon  dis- 
covered behind  a  tree,  whither  he  had  dragged  the 
fruit  and  cakes,  and  was  engaged  with  all  his  might 
and  main  in  an  endeavour,  with  a  piece  of  stick,  to 
force  out  an  apple.  In  this  attempt,  as  it  was  presently 
seen,  the  interesting  child  had  cracked  a  bottle,  the 
contents  of  which — merely  a  preparation  of  oil,  vine- 
gar, and  mustard,  for  the  salad — were  quietly  dribbling 
through  the  pound-cake,  biscuits,  and  fruit.  Similar 
aspirations  to  those  which  had  lately  been  so  cordially 
expressed  for  the  Dutch  pug,  were  now  most  devoutly 
formed  in  behalf  of  Master  Charles.  "  This  comes  of 
people  bringing  their  plaguey  brats  with  them,"  said 
Uncle  and  Bagshaw. 

While  this  scene  was  going  on,  Jack  Richards,  per- 
ceiving that  the  service  of  the  table  was  incomplete, 
bethought  him  of  Uncle  John's  silver-handled  knives 
and  forks,  and  spoons.  He  felt  first  in  one  pocket, 
then  in  the  other  ;  then  he  ran  down  to  search  the 
boat,  then  he  rummaged  the  baskets.  "  Jack,  my  boy," 
hallooed  Uncle  John,  "  don't  trouble  yourself,  you'll 
never  see  that  again." — "  What,  Sir  ?" — "  I  could 
not  bear  the  smell  of  it  any  longer,  so  I  slyly  drew  it 
out  of  your  pocket,  and  dexterously  let  it  fall  into  the 
deepest  part  of  the  Thames."  And  here  Uncle  John 
chuckled,  and  looked  about  him  for  applause.  "  Bless 
me,  Sir  !  Don't  say  so — why — bless  my  heart ! — 
you  don't  know  ! — before  we  got  into  the  boat,  I  put 
the  sausage  into  your  pocket,  and  your  case  of  cutlery 
into  my  own  !"  There  was  a  general  burst  of  laugh- 
ter against  Uncle  John.  He  turned  as  pale  as — nay, 
paler  than  anything  that  has  ever  yet  been  dragged  into 
the  comparison ;  for  an  instant  he  stood  stock-still, 
then  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  drew  forth  the 
unfortunate  substitute,  and  at  the  same  time  exclaiming 
M  D — ation  !"  dashed  it  violently  to  the  ground.  He 
next  buttoned  his  coat  from  the  bottom  to  the  top, 
pulled  down  his  cuffs,  whispered  to  his  no-longer-ad- 
mired Jack  Richards — "  You  shall  hear  from  me,  Mr. 
;"  and  saying  aloud  to  Bagshaw,  "  This  comes 


166 

of  your  confounded  party  of  pleasure,  Sir,"  away  he 
went,  and  returned  to  town  outside  a  Twickenham 
coach  :  resolving  by  the  way  to  call  out  that  Mr. 
Richards,  and  to  eject  the  Bagshaws  from  the  snug 
corner  they  held  in  his  last  will  and  testament. 

This  explosion  seemed  to  have   banished  pleasure 
for  that  day.     They  were  all,  more  or  less,  out  of  hu- 
mour ;   and  instead  of  making  the  best   of  things,  as 
they  had  hitherto  done,  they  now  made  the  worst  of 
them.  Sir  Thomas's  hamper  of  his  choke  wine  (which, 
by  the  by,  he  purchased  at  a  cheap  shop  for  the  oc- 
casion,) was  opened  ;  and  slices  of  ham  were  cut  with 
their  only  knife  and  fork.  Jack  Richards  tried  to  be  face- 
tious, but  it  would  not  do.     He  gave  Bagshaw  a  poke 
in  the  ribs,  which  was  received  with  a  very  formal — 
"  Sir,  I  must  beg — ."     To  Mr.  Wrench,  junior,  he 
said,  "  You   have  not  spoken  much  to-day — but  you 
have    made  amends  for   your  silence — d'ye   take? — 
Your  ham  is  good,  though  your  tongue  is  not  worth 
much  !"     Instead  of  laughing,  Mr.  Wrench  simpered 
something  about  "  impediment  liberties,"  and  "  satis- 
faction." On  being  invited  by  Sir  Thomas  to  a  second 
glass  of  his  "  old  East  India,"  he  said  that  one  was  a 
dose — had  rather  not  double  the  Cape  ;  and  at  the  first 
glass  of  champagne,  he  inquired  whether  there  had 
been  a  plentiful  supply  of  gooseberries  that  year.     In 
short,   whether  it  were  that  the  company  knew  not 
how  to  appreciate  his  style  of  wit  and  pleasantry,  or 
that  he  was  in  reality  a  very  disagreeable  person,  the 
fact  is  that — But  hold  !  let  us  say  nothing  ill  of  him  : 
he  died  last  week,  at  Folkstone,  of  a  surfeit  of  goose, 
in  the  forty-ninth  year  of  hi^  age.    For  the  consolation 
of  such  as  we»-e  amused  by  him,  and  regret  his  loss, 
be  it  remembered  that  there  are  still  to  be  found  many 
Jack  Richardses  in  this  world. 

As  we  have  said,  they  now  seemed  resolved  to  make 
the  worst  of  everything:  the  grass  was  damp,  the 
gnats  were  troublesome,  Carlo's  nose  was  in  every 
body's  face,  Cupid's  teeth  at  every  body's  calves,  and 
Master  Charles  w?.s  ill  of  too   many  sour  apples ;  it 


167 

was  growing  late,  and  no  good  could  come  of  sitting 
longer  in  the  open  air.  They  re-embarked.  By  the 
time  they  reached  Putney,  it  was  pitch  dark,  and  the 
tide  was  setting  against  them.  They  moved  on  in 
mute  impatience,  for  there  was  a  slight  sprinkling  of 
rain.  It  now  fell  in  torrents.  Master  Charles  grew 
frightened  and  screamed,  Cupid  yelped,  and  Carlo 
howled.  Accompanied  the  rest  of  the  way  by  these 
pleasing  sounds,  at  one  in  the  morning  (two  hours  and 
a  half  later  than  they  had  intended,)  they  arrived  at 
Westminster-stairs,  dull,  dreary,  drowsy,  discontented, 
and  drenched. 

How  this  day's  excursion  failed  of  being  "the  plea- 
santest  thing  that  ever  was,"  after  the  pains,  trouble, 
labour,  inconvenience,  and  bodily  suffering  he  had  en- 
dured to  make  it  so,  Mr.  Claudius  Bagshaw,  with  all 
his  literature,  science,  and  philosophy,  is  still  utterly 
at  a  loss  to  discover  ;  but  he  is  resolved  to  renew  the 
experiment  once  again,  on  the  24th  of  August  next  en- 
suing ;  and  to  secure  an  additional  chance  in  favour  of 
its  success — he  will  commence  his  preparations  at 
Christmas.  p* 


168 


MY  AUNT'S  BEQUEST. 


Waiting  for  a  dead  man's  shoes  is  commonly  con- 
sidered to  be  a  precarious  dependence :  be  this  as  it 
may,  no  one  will  deny  that  it  is  a  tedious  state  of  ex- 
istence. Waiting  for  a  dead  woman's  slippers  is  worse 
both  ways :  old  men  do  die ;  old  women  won't — if 
they  can  help  it :  and  then,  women  are  the  more  ca- 
pricious. I  cannot  reproach  myself  with  any  lack  of 
duty  towards  my  aunt  Susannah,  during  her  blessed 

life-time,  (and  a  long  one  it  was  !)  yet .     But  the 

sanctity  of  the  grave  must  be  respected,  and  so  I  will 
not  even  hint  a  thought  to  the  dishonour  of  her  memory. 
Her  husband,  the  Reverend  Phineas  Wheezy,  died  in 
the  year  eighteen-hundred.  He  was  Vicar  of  St. 
Calvo's,  Essex ;  Rector  of  St.  Snooks',  Lancashire, 
and  of  Great  Tredidel's,  Cornwall ;  Chaplain  to  Sir 
Pryse  Pryse-Pryse,  Bart.,  of  Prysellolhvyth  Hall, 
Monmouthshire ;  Librarian  to  the  Duke  of  Dunder- 
leigh,  at  Dunderleigh  Park,  Cumberland ;  morning 
Lecturer  at  St.  Snorum's,  Yorkshire  ;  and  afternoon 
Lecturer  at  St.  Snort's,  near  Rochester,  Kent :  so,  for 
the  convenience  of  not  performing  any  of  these  various 
duties,  he  inhabited  a  house  at  Putney,  in  Surrey. 
It  will  not  be  wondered  at,  that,  by  the  ungodly  and 
the  inconsiderate — let  us  call  them  envious,  rather — 
he  was  occasionally  taunted  with  his  pluralities,  and 
reproved  for  what  those  cavillers  deemed  his  utter  ne- 
glect of  his  sacred  duties ;  but  against  the  attacks  of 
such  as  these  he  was  prepared  with  a  ready  and  un- 
answerable defence.  "  Were  I,"  he  would  say,  "  to 
comply  with  any  one  of  those  calls  upon  my  personal 
attendance — calls,  various  as  they  are  numerous,  and 
distant  as  they  are  various" — (for,  on  such  occasions, 


169 

my  uncle  was  wont  to  ensconce  himself  behind  an 
impenetrable  phrase) — ':  distant,  I  say,  as  they  are 
various,  how  justly  should  I  stand  chargeable  with 
undue  preference  to  that  one,  thereby  making  my  ne- 
glect of  all  the  others  the  more  offensive,  inasmuch  as 
it  would  be  the  more  remarkable  !  Besides,  with  re- 
spect to  mv  lectureships  alone,  my  lectureships  alone, 
I  say,  is  it' possible — is  it  within  the  bounds  of  human 
possibility,  that  I  should  be  at  St.  Snorum's,  York- 
shire, at  ten  in  the  morning,  and  at  St.  Snort's,  Kent, 
at  three  in  the  afternoon  !  I  ask  you,  is  it  within  the 
widest  scope  of  possibility  ?"  Having  asked  this  per- 
plexing question,  he  would,  like  Brutus,  "  pause  for 
a  reply  ;"  and  as  no  one  was  ever  found  bold  enough 
to  deny  the  impossibility  of  performing,  within  the 
brief  space  of  five  hours,  such  a  journey  as  the  one  he- 
suggested,  he  would  end  the  argument,  and  satisfy  his 
own  conscience  at  the  same  time,  by  exclaiming : 
"  Monstrous !  Perfectly  preposterous  to  expect  of 
any  man  that  he  should  do  duty  in  two  places,  far 
distant  from  each  other,  almost  at  one  and  the  same 
moment." 

Now,  as  the  income  of  the  Reverend  Phineas 
"Wheezv,  fkim  his  numerous  benefices  and  appoint- 
ments, 'was  large ;  and  he  being  unbiest  with  any 
children  to  assist  him  in  the  agreeable  occupation  of 
diminishing  it,  it  has  always  been  a  matter  of  astonish- 
ment that  he  should  have  died  worth  no  more  than 
forty  thousand  pounds.  So  it  was,  however ;  and  the 
whole  of  this  he  bequeathed,  unconditionally,  to  his 
widow  :  leaving  to  each  of  us,  his  nephews,  nieces, 
and  cousins,  a  fegacy  of — dependance  upon  the  justice 
or  generosity  of  aunt  Susannah.  If  I  cannot  applaud 
mv"  aunt  for  acting,  upon  this  occasion,  with  either 
ofenerosity  or  justice,  I  must,  at  least,  admit  that  she 
displayed  no  inconsiderable  share  of  humanity.  Feeling, 
as  she  did,  that  doubt,  anxiety,  and  suspense  are  painful 
sensations,  she  extinguished  them  in  our  bosoms  by, 
at  once,  assuring  us,  "  upon  her  honour,  as  a  lady, 
that,  were  it  to  save  us  all  from  starving,  she  would 
15 


170 

not  give  us  a  single  shilling  during  her  life-lime.  But 
she  added  that,  at  her  death,  we  should  be  remembered, 
each  according  to  our  conduct  towards  her :  thus  hold- 
ing us  rigidly  to  our  good  behaviour. 

At  her  death!  At  the  period  of  my  uncle's  departure 
(1800";  my  aunt  Susannah  was  already  in  her  sixty- 
seventh  year;  and  as  she  had  always  been  of  a  sickly 
constitution,  we  could  scarcely  hope  that  she  should  live 
long.  Indeed,  we  had  observed,  and  not  without  pro- 
portionate alarm,  a  gradual  decline  in  her  health  ever 
since  the  day  of  her  beloved  husband's  death.  Our 
solicitude — that  is  to  say,  of  us,  the  expectant  ne- 
phews, and  nieces,  and  cousins — was  intense;  and 
sharp,  indeed,  were  the  struggles,  and  frequent  the 
quarrels  between  us,  for  precedency  in  affectionate  at- 
tendance upon  the  suffering  old  lady.  Kindness  has 
been  said  to  kill  :  oh  !  could  it  have  availed  to  cure  ! 
Aunt  Wheezy  exhibited  symptoms  of  pulmonary  con- 
sumption: my  cousin  Robert  was  anxious  that,  for  the 
benefit  of  her  health,  she  should  pass  a  few  weeks 
with  him  at  Blowbluster  cottage,  on  the  top  of  North 
Hill.  Towards  the  end  of  the  first  year  of  her  widow- 
hood she  had  a  slight  attack  of  ague  :  for  the  benefit 
of  her  health,  she  was  invited  by  my  sister  Briggs  to 
spend  the  winter  months  at  her  house  on  the  borders 
of  the  Essex  marshes.  Dr.  Drench,  apprehensive 
that  the  depiession  of  spirits  under  which  my  aunt  had 
laboured  ever  since  the  loss  of  my  poor  uncle,  might 
lead  to  some  fatal  derangement  of  the  system,  recom- 
mended a  change  of  scene:  my  cousin  Peter,  laudably 
zealous  to  carry  the  doctor's  advice  into  effect,  hired  a 
nice  apartment  for  aunt  Susannah  at  the  undertaker's, 
directly  opposite  to  the  church-yard  at  Kensington. 
She  was  subject  to  cholic  and  spasms  in  the  stomach, 
and  frequently  was  her  precious  life  endangered  by 
their  attacks.  My  affection  for  the  old  lady  was  mani- 
fested by  slight  and  delicate  attentions,  rather  than  by 
acts  of  important  service,  which.,  indeed,  I  had  neither 
means  nor  opportunity  to  perform  :  I  made  her  fre- 
quent presents  of  choice  or  early  fruit — chiefly  plumbs 


171 

and  cherries ;  then  I  would  send  her  a  mould  of  ice- 
cream ;  or,  if  she  complained  of  thirst,  I  was  instantly 
at  her  side,  with  a  goblet  of  lemonade.  It  was  by- 
such  and  dmilar  petits  soins  (as  the  French  term 
these  amiable  minor  services,)  that  /  endeavoured  to 
please. 

At  the  time  of  my  uncle's  decease  I  had  just  entered 
my  twenty-first  year.  (It  is  not  from  any  doubt  of 
the  reader's  knowledge  of  arithmetic,  or  with  a  view 
to  an  ostentatious  display  of  my  own  proficiency  in 
that  exact  science,  I  also  inform  him  that  I  am  now 
in  my  fifty-second.)  My  father  had  bequeathed  me  a 
property  producing  an  income  of  about  a  hundred-and- 
fifty  pounds  per  annum.  This  was  not  sufficient  for 
splendour,  scarcely  for  independence  ;  in  order,  there- 
fore, to  increase  it,  it  was  necessary  I  should  assume  a 
profession.  I  chose  the  bar,  and  took  chambers  in 
Gray's  Inn.  I  read  hard  ;  and  my  vanity  leads  me  to 
believe  that,  had  I  continued  my  studies,  my  labours 
would  have  been  rewarded  with  no  common  share  of 
success.  Had  aunt  Susannah  been  a  much  younger 
woman  than  she  actually  was,  I  should  have  done  so ; 
for  the  prospect  of  the  legacy  I  was  justified  in  expect- 
ing, by  being  more  remote  would  have  formed  a  less 
important  item  in  the  catalogue  of  my  worldly  consi- 
derations, and,  consequently,  have  less  interrupted,  if 
it  would  at  all  have  interrupted,  my  present  occupa- 
tions. As  it  was,  the  hope — 1  would  say  the  proba- 
bility of  speedily  succeeding  to  a  good  share  of  her 
property,  which,  by  dint  of  assiduity,  I  might  induce 
her  to  make  better,  was  a  temptation  too  obvious  and 
too  strong  for  resistance.  There  were  three  other  un- 
fortunate circumstances  against  me.  First,  of  all  the 
expectants  of  the  Wheezy  property,  (and  we  were 
nine,  male  and  female,)  I  was  the  only  one  unmarried  ; 
secondly ;  I  was  the  only  one  without  any  evident 
employment,  (for  being  a  mere  student,  and  my  stu- 
dies not  appearing  to  be  productive,  in  a  pecuniary 
sense,  my  time  was  estimated  at  no  great  value  ;)  and, 
thirdly,  I  was  the  only  one,  at  that  time,  living  in 


172 

London  :  so  that,  if  anything  was  to  be  done,  whether 
as  a  matter  of  necessity,  or  to  gratify  a  caprice,  it  was 
always — "  Tom  is  a  bachelor,  Tom  doesn't  live  so 
very  far  off,  Tom  has  nothing  better  to  do,  so  Tom 
must  do  it."  From  what  I  have  here  stated  it  will 
naturally  be  inferred  that  profitable  application  to  my 
profession  was  impracticable. 

The  distance  between  the  aunt  and  the  nephew  was 
soon  to  be  diminished.  After  three  years  of  widow- 
hood, conceiving  that  the  establishment  at  Putney  was 
too  large  for  "a  poor  lone  woman,"  she  sold  the 
villa,  dismissed  her  servants,  and  rented  the  parlour- 
floor  of  a  dark,  dingy,  black  house,  (one  of  those  dens 
with  twenty-four  small  panes  of  glass,  set  in  thick, 
clumsey  frames,  to  each  of  the  windows,  and  one 
solitary  poplar  growing  in  front  of  them,)  in  a  narrowT 
street  at  Kensington,  where  she  was  waited  upon  by 
the  one  maid-servant.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive 
anything  more  melancholy  than  was  this  change  ;  not 
but  that,  in  one  way,  it  was  gratifying  to  us  :  for  it  re- 
quired no  Johnsonian  grasp  of  intellect  to  understand 
that  the  less  my  aunt  spent  of  her  income  the  more  of 
it  must  remain  for  its  inheritors.  The  furniture,  the 
library,  the  plate,  the  wines — and  such  wines  ! — (I 
have  said  my  uncle  was  a  parson) — the  carriage,  the 
horses,  all,  ail  were  sold  ! 

"  So,  for  a  good  old-gentlemanly  vice, 
I  think  I  must  take  up  with  avarice.'' 

Well :  although  we  saw  those  possessions  depart 
from  us,  there  still  remained  their  value  in  money  ; 
and  it  was  a  consolatory  reflection  that  money  bears 
interest,  which  would  have  been  lost  upon  the  com- 
modities themselves,  for  the  year,  or,  perhaps,  the  two 
years,  our  dear  aunt  might  yet  live  ;  for  she  was  now 
seventy,  and  her  health,  unhappily,  in  a  more  unset- 
tled state  than  ever. 

The  anxiety  attendant  upon  the  sale  of  her  property, 
and  the  investment,  to  the  ureatest  advantage,  of  its 


173 

proceeds,  together  with  the  fatigue  of  moving,  could 
not  but  act  detrimentally  to  the  health  of  a  person  so 
aged  and  so  infirm  as  my  aunt  Susannah.  It  was  less 
to  our  astonishment,  therefore,  than  our  grief,  that,  on 
the  third  day  after  her  removal  to  the  dingy  parlour-floor 
at  Kensington,  we  (the  expectants)  received  intelligence 
from  Dr.  Drench,  that  Mrs.  Wheezy  was  dangerously 
ill  of  a  bilious  fever  !  Our  distress  at  this  announce- 
ment was  greatly  aggravated  by  the  doctor's  pressing 
desire  for  our  immediate  attendance,  as  he  could  give 
us  no  hopes  of  her  surviving  the  next  four-and-twenty 
hours.  Never,  surely,  was  a  departing  creature  blest 
with  so  affectionate  a  set  of  relatives  !  Scarcely  had 
we  received  the  afflicting  summons  ere  we  were  all  at 
her  bed-side,  each  accompanied  by  a  physician  and  two 
apothecaries. 

"  My  dears,"  said  my  aunt — (She  spoke  faintly, 
and  uttered  only  a  word  or  two  at  a  time) — "my 
dears,  this  proof  of  your  affectionate,  solicitude  concern- 
ing me  affects  me  deeply.  I  expected  no  less  from 
you,  and  of  this  you  will  receive  a  proof." 

Here  we  wept  bitterly  ;  begging  her,  at  the  same 
time,  not  to  allude  to  that. 

"  Ah  !  my  dears  !  to  lose  your  poor  aunt  at  her 
time  of  life — seventy,  only  seventy  ! — would  be  a  se- 
vere blow  to  you  !" 

Here  we  wept  more  bitterly  still. 

"  But,  my  children,  for  as  my  children  I  consider 
you,  pray  for  her. — pray  for  her — " 

Here  we  absolutely  roared  with  grief,  and  were 
about  to  kneel  in  order  to  fulfil  the  solemn  task  she 
enjoined  us. 

"  Pray  for  her — speedy  recovery  and  long  life." 

At  this  precise  instant,  Doctor  Drench,  perceiving 
that  his  patient  was  somewhat  exhausted  by  the  fatigue 
of  talking,  requested  us  to  quit  the  room.  We  readily 
assented. 

Cousins,  nephews,  nieces,  doctors,  and  apothecaries, 
all  adjourned  to  the  adjoining  apartment. 
15* 


174 

"  Is  there  no  hope,  gentlemen  ?"  inquired  cousin 
Robert. 

The  gentlemen,  to  whom  this  melancholy  question 
was  addressed,  shook,  with  becoming  gravity,  their 
professional  heads. 

"  The  lady  cannot  live  through  this  night,"  said 
one  of  them  ;  "  the  case  is  utterly  hopeless  ;  therefore, 
for  us  to  repeat  our  visit,  would  be  an  act  of  disho- 
nesty."   He  and  the  rest  accepted  their  fees. 

The  apothecaries  looked  astonished  and  dissa- 
tisfied. 

"  But"  continued  the  speaker,  "  we  will  prescribe 
something  which,  at  the  worst,  can  do  no  harm." 

"  Are  you  certain — quite  certain  she  will  die  ?"  in- 
quired my  sister  Briggs ;  "  is  there  really  no  hope? 
Let  us  know  the  worst" 

"  While  there  is  life  there  is  always  hope,"  replied 
Doctor  Drench,  to  whom  the  question  was  more  par- 
ticularly addressed ;  "  she  may — she  may  rally  a 
little  in  the  morning." 

"  May  she  !"  exclaimed  cousin  Peter,  in  a  tone 
more  indicative  (as  I  thought)  of  consternation  than  of 
joy ;  "  may  she  !  For  Heaven's  sake,  gentlemen,  do 
all  of  you  come  again  to-morrow — for  fear  of  acci- 
dent." 

On  the  second  day,  the  physicians  came  again  ;  and, 
on  the  third,  we  found,  notwithstanding  this,  that  aunt 
was  a  "  he  tie  better."  Peter  now  admitted  that  we 
might  as  well  throw  money  into  the  Thames  as  spend 
it  on  a  hopeless  case  :  the  extra  physicians  were  dis- 
missed, and  Mrs.  Wheezy  was  left  entirely  to  the 
care  of  Doctor  Drench. 

On  the  fourth  day,  aunt  was  "  not  so  well  ;"  on  the 
fifth  day  she  was  M  worse  ;  on  the  sixth,  "she  could 
not  possibly  live  through  the  night;"  on  the  seventh, 
"  she    had   rallied   a   little  ;"  on   the  eighth,  it  was 

"  all  but  over ;"  on  the  ninth, !  Doctor  Drench 

met  us  in  the  parlour,  to  communicate  to  us  that,  in 
the  course  of  the  night,  so  wonderful  a  change  had 
taken  place,  that  he  might  now  venture  to  give  us  hopes, 


175 

"  Hopes,  doctor !"  exclaimed  Peter,  "  hopes  of 
what  ?" 

m  Of  Mrs.  TVheezy's  recovery ;  and,  should  she 
recover  this  bout,  such  a  change  will  have  been 
operated  in  her  system,  that — of  course  I  cannot 
promise  ii— but"  ("and  here  he  took  us  all  kindly  by 
the  hand,) — but,  I  say,  should  she  recover,  she 
may  creep  on  for  these  ten  years  to  come.'' 

This  Doctor  Drench  was  'a  tolerably  clever  man  in 
his  profession  ;  yet,  I  own,  he  had  never  been  a  fa- 
vourite of  mine.  *  His  pleasing  anticipations  were  con- 
firmed ; — aunt  Wheezy  did  recover.  What  was  our 
joy  at  this  event  may  be  more  easily  conceived  than 
described  !  Our  joy,  however,  did  not  prevent  certain 
little  bickerings  amongst  us,  the  affectionate  relatives 
of  aunt  Wheezy.  Our  assiduous  and  disinterested  at- 
tentions to  her,' in  the  manifestation  of  which  each  of 
us  strove  to  out-do  the  other,  were  productive  of  mu- 
tual reproaches  and  recriminations  :  cousin  Robert 
told  my  sister  Briggs,  that  the  object  of  her  ex- 
traordinary kindness  "to  the  old  lady  was  "not  to 
be  misunderstood ;"  sister  Briggs  declared  to  Robert 
that  she  positively  blushed  at  his  barefaced  proceed- 
ings ;  I  called  Peter  a  time-server,  while  Peter  be- 
stowed upon  me  the  title  of  legacy-hunter.  I  will 
take  this  opportunity  to  mention,  that  our  disputes 
upon  this,  and  some  future  occasions  of  a  similar  na- 
ture, caused  a  total  disunion  of  one  of  the  most  loving 
families  the  world  had  ever  beheld. 

A  few  days  after  my  aunt's  blessed  recovery,  I  re- 
ceived from  her  the  following  note  : — 

••  My  dear  Tom, 
"  Pray' come  and  dine  with  your  poor  lone  aunt  on 
Sunday  next,  at  four  o'clock  precisely.  Be  with  me 
at  two  precisely,  as  I  have  something  of  great  import- 
ance to  you  to  communicate.  Bring  '  The  Observer 
newspaper  with  you. 

"  I  remain  your  affectionate  aunt, 

"  Susannah  Wheezy. 
"  P.  S.     Buy  me  a  cribbage-board.,? 


176 

As  I  had  previously  engaged  to  join  an  agreeable 
party  (a  certain  Miss  Anna  Maria  Brackenbury  being 
one)  in  an  excursion  to  Richmond,  this  invitation  was 
somewhat  mat.  apropos:  but  the  "  something  of  great 
importance"  was  a  hint  sufficiently  significant ;  so  I 
resolved  to  sacrifice  my  pleasure  to  that  which  I  could 
not  consider  in  any  other  light  than  as  my  interest. 

As  the  clock  struck  two,  I  entered  aunt  Susannah's 
dingy  parlour.  The  cribbage-board  was  deposited  in 
the  side-board  drawer,  and  "  The  Observer"  (which 
I  was  to  read  aloud  after  dinner,)  on  the  mantelpiece. 
After  a  few  preparatory  "  a-hems  !"  thus  did  my  aunt 
unfold  the  "  something  of  great  importance." 

"  Thomas,  I  am  a  poor  lone  woman.  Though  I 
am  but  seventy-one,  I  feel  that,  suffering  and  ailing  as 
I  do,  I  shall  not  make  old  bones  ;  I  am  not  long  for 
this  world  ;  but,  while  I  am  permitted  to  live,  do  you, 
my  dear  Thomas,  consider  my  forlorn  condition,  and  be 
kind  to  rne.  You  are  a  young  man,  and  attendance 
upon  a  poor  creature  like  me  cannot  but  be  irksome 
to  you  ;  yet — ah  !  had  I  children  !  but,  alas  !  I  have 
neither  chick  nor  child;  my  property  is  all  in  the 
funds,  every  shilling  of  it  is  at  my  own  disposal — I 
say  every  shilling  of  it  is  at  my  own  disposal — (Do 
you  attend  to  what  I  say,  my  dear  Thomas  ?) — and 
when  I  die !  Ah  !  there  are  many  who  look  for- 
ward with  impatience  to  that  event  :  not  you, 
Thomas  ;  but,  during  my  late  illness,  I  remarked  that 
the  others — ay,  every  one  of  them,  seemed  anxious 
for  the  fatal ." 

"  Why,  to  speak  candidly,  my  dear  aunt,"  said  I, 
"  I  must  confess — though  it  grieves  me  to  say  it  of 
them — their  behaviour  was  anything  but  what  it  ought 
to  have  been.  Heavens  !  The  bare  idea  of  allowing 
the  hope  of  inheriting  a  little  vile  dross  so  far  to  over- 
power the  sentiments  of  nature,  the  feelings  of  the 
heart,  the  natural  affections  of  the — of  the — in  short, 
to  entertain  sentiments  so  interested  as  to  lead  one  to 

form  a  wish  for !  and  so  good,  so  kind  an  aunt, 

too  !    O,    inhuman  !"     Here   my  pathos    drew  tears 
from  aunt  Wheezy's  eyes,  and  my  own  too. 


177 


Ah  !  ray  dear  Tom,  were  they  all  like  y 


But  no  matter ;  it  will  be  the  worse  for  them,  and  the 
better  for  somebody  else,  one  of  these  days  ;"  and  as 
she  said  this,  she  patted  my  hand,  which  was  resting 
on  her  arm.  At  that  moment  I  felt  like  a  sole  legatee. 
"  But,  to  what  I  wished  to  say  to  you  :"  and,  conti- 
nued she,  in  rather  a  solemn  tone,  "  Thomas — Tom, 
my  dear,  Saturday  is  the  day  for  washing  poor  little 
Flora,"  [this  was  her  Dutch  pug-dog,]  "and  although 
the  dear  creature  has  not  been  washed  since  the  day 
I  fell  ill,  yet  (would  you  believe  it  ?)  the  servant  of  the 
house  has  refused  to  take  the  trouble  of  cleaning  the 
little  darling !" 

I  could  not  suppress  my  indignation  at  such  barba- 
rity ;  yet  I  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  how  this  could 
be"  considered  as  "  something  of  great  importance"  to 
me. 

•;  Now,.  Tom,  as  you  have  nothing  else  to  do,  you 
must  come  to-morrow  at  two  o'clock,  carry  the  poor 
thing  to  the  Park,  and  give  her  a  nice  washing  in  the 
Serpentine." 

This  was  an  employment  for  which  I  felt  no  relish  ; 
so  I  told  aunt  Susannah  that  it  happened,  most  unfor- 
tunately, that  I  had  already  engaged  myself  with  a 
party  to  the  Exhibition,  for  the  very  hour  she  had  men- 
tioned. 

"  Very  well,  sir  ;  I  dare  say  I  shall  find  some 
one  who  will  be  glad  of  an  opportunity  of  doing  me  a 
favour." 

I  felt  like  one  disinherited.  The  sacrifice  of  a 
visit  to  the  Exhibition  was  but  a  trifle  (although 
Miss  Brackenbury  had  promised  to  take  my  arm 
through  the  rooms)  in  comparison  with  the  putting  in 
jeopardy  of  a  fine  legacy  ;  so,  since  it  was  not  only 
my  duty,  but  my  desire 'to  obey  my  dear  aunt,  I  con- 
sented to  perform  the  ceremonies  of  Miss  Flora's  toi- 
lette. 

I  have  said,  that  the  change  from  the  villa  at  Putney 
to  the  -parlour  at  Kensington  was,  to  me,  at  least,  a 
melancholy  one.     The   Sunday   dinners   of  my  late 


178 

uncle  used  to  be  as  delightful  as  excellent  society,  an 
excellent  table,  and  excellent  wines  could  make  them. 

■Now !     At  four  o'clock  I  was  seated  opposite  to 

my  aunt  Wheezy,  at  a  small  square  table,  in  her  dark, 
dingy  parlour;  our  repast  consisted  of  a  roast  neck 
of  mutton,  (a  thing  I  detest,)  three  potatoes,  two  suet 
dumplings,  and  a  pint  of  Cape  Sherry,  just  purchased 
at  the  nearest  public-house.  Such  a  dinner  was  soon 
ended  ;  and,  the  cloth  being  removed,  I  was  desired 
to  read  "  The  Observer."  I  began  with  some  article 
of  news  which  I  thought  might  be  interesting  to  the  old 
lady. 

"Is  that  your  method  of  reading  a  newspaper?  If 
the  task  be  too  troublesome  to  you,  I  dare  say  I  can 
find  some  one  who  will  be  glad  to  take  it  off  your 
hands.  Ah  !  that  I  had  a  child  of  my  own  !  But  I 
am   a  poor  lone  woman  ;  I  have  neither   chick   nor 

child  ;  my  money  is  all  at  my  own  disposal,  and . 

Well,  sir,  if  you  choose  to  read  it,  begin  at  the  begin- 
ning." I  began  with  the  first  advertisement,  (which 
was  a  long  list  of  patent  medicines,)  and  read  on  till 
I  came  to  the  names  of  printer  and  publisher.  Ten 
a'clock  being  my  aunt's  hour  of  retiring  to  rest, 
at  half  past  nine  I  was  dismissed  ;  not  without 
a  reminder,  however,  of  my  duty  for  the  morrow. 

The  next  morning  I  waited  upon  Miss  Brackenbury ; 
and,  telling  her  that  an  important  affair  would  deprive 
me  of  the  pleasure  of  attending  her  to  the  exhibition, 
(I  took  care  not  to  say  that  I  was  engaged  to  wash 
a  dirty  pug-dog  in  the  Serpentine,)  requested  she  would 
allow  me  to  make  myself  amends  for  so  severe  a  loss, 
by  accompanying  her  in  the  evening  to  the  theatre. 
To  this  request  she  kindly  consented. 

Punctually  at  two  o'clock  I  was  at  Kensington  ;  at 
half-past  two  I  was  engaged  in  the  pleasing  occupa- 
tion of  scrubbing  little  Flora  ;  and  at  three  I  was  again 
in  the  dingy  parlour. 

"  Can  you  play  at  cribbage,  Tom  ?"  inquired  my 
aunt. 


179 

I  answered  in  the  negative  :  I  scarcely  knew  one 
card  from  the  other. 

"  Then  come  and  tea  with  me  at  six  this  evening, 
and  I  will  teach  you." 

"  It  happens,  most  unluckily,"  said  I,  "  that  I  have 
promised  to  take  a  young  lady  to  the  theatre  this  even- 
ing;  and,  as  I  cannot  civilly  release  myself  from  th§ 
engagement,  I " 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Heaven  defend  us  from  depend- 
ing upon  one's  relations  for  any  thing !  I  dare  say  I 
shall  find  some  one  who  will  be  glad  to  pass  an  hour 
or  two  with  me.  Only  remember — my  property  is 
all  at  my  own  disposal,"  &c.  &c. 

I  required  no  plainer  a  hint.  I  trotted  off  from 
Kensington  to  Somers  Town,  made  an  awkward  apo- 
logy to  Anna  Maria  for  this  second  disappointment, 
and  at  six  o'clock  I  found  myself  enjoying  the  luxu- 
ries of  black  tea  and  cribbage  with  my  aunt  Wheezy. 

"  You  are  an  apt  scholar,  Tom,"  said  my  aunt, 
after  having  made  me  play  seven-and-thirty  games 
at  penny  cribbage  with  her;  "  come  again  to-morrow 
at  six,  and  take  your  revenge." — (I  had  lost  seven- 
pence.) 

"To-morrow,  aunt?  Impossible!  I  am  going 
with  my  friend  Wilkins  to  the  Opera."  This  objec- 
tion was  met  by  the  usual  hint  at  her  property  being 
entirely  at  her  own  disposal ;  so  at  six  on  the  follow- 
ing evening  I  was  again  in  the  dark  dingy  parlour. 

By  dint  of  the  application  of  this  threat  respecting 
her  property,  aunt  Wheezy  contrived,  within  three 
months,  to  render  me  her  slave.  Every  Saturday  was 
I  compelled — setting  all  other  affairs  aside — to  wash 
Flora  in  the  Serpentine  ;  to  eat  roast  neck  of  mutton, 
drink  Cape  Sherry,  and  read  "  The  Observer"  through, 
every  Sunday  ;  and  to  play  at  cribbage,  from  six 
o'clock  till  half  past  nine,  every  evening  in  the  week, 
Sundays  excepted.  To  assert  that  I  did  not  dare  say 
my  soul  was  my  own  would  be  ridiculous  ;  for,  to 
confess  the  truth,  I  doubt,  when  I  reflect  on  my  past 
subserviency,  whether  I  had  a  soul. 


180 

In  the  midst  of  these  avocations,  which  entirely  di- 
verted me  from  my  profession,  I  yet  found  time  to  pay 
a  daily  visit  to  Anna  Maria.  At  the  end  of  three 
years,  Mr.  Brackenbury  (her  papa)  asked  me  if  I  en- 
tertained any  serious  intentions  respecting  his  daughter. 
My  intentions  respecting  her  were  serious  indeed,  for 
I  contemplated  marriage.  I  loved  Anna  Maria  ;  and 
my  M  love"  was  exactly  of  that  "  sweet"  ^quality  which 
"meets  return." 

"  Sweet  is  the  love  that  meets  return!" 

"  Well,"  said  old  Brackenbury,  "  I  have  no  ob- 
jection to  you  for  a  son-in-law  ;  you  have  a  rich  aunt ; 
if  she  will  give  you  four  thousand  pounds,  I  will  give 
you  a  like  sum,  and  Anna  Maria  into  the  bargain." 

That  same  evening,  at  cribbage,  I  ventured  to  break 
to  aunt  Susannah  the  matter  of  my  intended  mar- 
riage. 

"  What  i"  exclaimed  she,  "  marry  !  and  what  is  to 
become  of  me  ?  Who  will  pass  the  evenings  with 
me  ?    Who  will  wash  Flora  in  the  Serpentine  ?    Who 

will ?     But  do  as  you  please — leave  me  to   die 

alone.  I  require  only  one  and  a  last  favour  of  you. 
Call  upon  Mr.  Quirk,  my  attorney,  and  desire  him  to 
be  with  me  to-morrow,  early  :  he  must  make  some 
important  alterations  in  a  certain  paper." 

This  was  sufficient  for  me.  I  assured  my  aunt  I 
would  rather  expire  than  marry  without  her  consent. 
"  That's  well,"  said  she  ;  "  wait  till  I  die  ;  that  will  be 
time  enough.  Ah  !  me,  I  shan't  be  a  trouble  to  you 
long." 

At  the  end  of  another  three  years,  aunt  Wheezy  not 
exhibiting  the  slightest  propensity  to  dying,  Mr.  Brack- 
enbury bestowed  his  daughter's  hand  on  my  rival, 
Dick  Dexter,  the  conveyancer. 

I  lost  my  mistress  ;  one  by  one  1  lost  my  friends. 
Aunt  Wheezy  was  all  in  all  to  me.  Years  rolled  on ; 
aunt  Wheezy  did  not  die  ;  Sunday  brought  its  neck 
of  mutton,  Cape  Sherry,  and  "  Observer;"  Saturday, 


181 

its  washing  the  pug-dog  in  the  Serpentine,  (not  Flora, 
for  she  and  a  long  succession  of  dogs  had  gone  the 
way  which  my  aunt  would  not  go) ;  and  every  even- 
ing in  the  week  its  eight-and-thirty  games  at  penny 
cribbage.  On  the  2nd  of  June  1830,  my  dear  aunt 
was  still  alive  !  She  was  in  her  ninety -seventh  year; 
I  in  my  fifty-second.  My  fellow  expectants  were  all 
dead :  I  remained  the  only  one  possessing  a  claim  to 
the  Wheezy  property.  On  the  morning  of  the  3rd  of 
June,  aunt  Susannah  was  found  dead  in  her  bed.  Her 
will  was  opened.  She  left  every  shilling  of  her  money 
to  public  charities :  to  me  she  bequeathed — the  crib- 
bage-board ! 


W 


182 


THE  DISSENTING  MINISTER. 


"  No,  Victor  !  we  shall  never  meet  again.  I  feel 
that  conviction  burnt  in  upon  my  very  heart.  We  part 
now  for  the  last  time.  You  are  returning  to  your  own 
beautiful  France,  to  your  family,  to  your  home — a  cap- 
tive released  from  his  prison,  an  exile  restored  to  his 
country,  gay,  fortunate,  and  happy — what  leisure  will 
you  have  to  think  of  the  poor  Jane  ?" 

"  You  forget,  Jane,  that  I  am  the  soldier  of  a  chief 
at  war  with  all  Europe,  and  that,  in  leaving  England, 
I  shall  be  sent  instantly  to  fight  fresh  battles  against 
some  other  nation.  It  is  my  only  consolation  that  the 
conditions  of  my  exchange  forbid  my  being  again  op- 
posed to  your  countrymen.  I  go,  dearest,  not  to  en- 
counter the  temptations  of  peace,  but  the  hardships  of 
war." 

"  The  heroic  hardships,  the  exciting  dangers  that 
you  love  so  well !  Be  it  so.  Battle,  victory,  peril,  or 
death,  on  the  one  hand  ; — on  the  other,  the  graces  and 
the  blandishments,  the  talents  and  the  beauty  of  your 
lovely  countrywomen  !  What  chance  is  there  that  I 
should  be  remembered  either  in  the  turmoil  of  a  cam- 
paign, or  the  gaiety  of  a  capital?  You  will  think  of 
me  (if  indeed  you  should  ever  think  of  me  at  all)  but 
as  a  part  of  the  gloomiest  scenes  and  the  most  cloudy 
days  of  your  existence.  As  Belford  contrasted  with 
Paris,  so  shall  I  seem  when  placed  in  competition  with 
some  fair  Parisian.  No,  Victor  !  we  part,  and  I  feel 
that  we  part  for  ever." 

"  Cruel  and  unjust  !     Shall  you  forget  me  ?" 

"  No  !  To  remember  when  hope  is  gone  is  the  me- 


183 

lancholy  privilege  of  woman.  Forget  you  !  Oh  that 
I  could'!" 

••  Well  then,  Jane,  my  own  Jane,  put  an  end  at  once 
to  these  doubts,  to  these  suspicions.  Come  with  me 
to  France,  to  my  home.  My  mother  is  not  rich; — I 
am  one  of  Napoleon's  poorest  Captains  ; — hut  he  has 
deigned  to  notice  me  ; — my  promotion,  if  life  be  spared 
to  me,  is  assured;  and  in  the  mean  time,  we  have 
enough  for  competence,  for  happiness.  Come  with  me, 
my  own  Jane,  you  whose  affection  has  been  my  only 
comfort  during  two  years  of  captivity,  come  and  share 
the  joys  of  my  release  !  Nothing  can  be  easier  than 
your  flight.  No  one  suspects  our  attachment.  Your 
father  sleeps " 

••And  you  would  have  me  abandon  him!  me,  his 
only  child  !  Alas  !  Victor,  if  I  were  to  desert  him  in 
his  old  ase,  could  I  ever  sleep  again  ?  Go,  I  am  light- 
ly punished  for  a  love  which,  prejudiced  as  he  is  against 
your  nation,  I  knew  that  he  would  condemn.  It  is  fit 
that  a  clandestine  attachment  should  end  in  desolation 
and  misery.  Go,  but,  oh  dearest  !  talk  no  more  of  my 
accompanying  you  ;  say  no  more  that  you  will  return 
to  claim  me  at  'the  peace.  Both  are  alike  impossible. 
Go  and  be  happy  with  some  younger,  fairer  woman  ! 
Go  and  forget  the  poor  Jane  !"  And  so  saying,  she 
gently  disengaged  her  hand,  which  was  clasped  in  both 
his,  and  passed  quickly  from  the  little  garden  where 
they  stood  into  the  house,  where,  for  fear  of  dis- 
covery, Victor  dared  not  follow  her. 

This  dialogue,  which,  by  the  way,  was  held  not  as 
I  have  given  it,  in  English,  but  in  rapid  and  passionate 
French,  took  place  at  the  close  of  a  November  evening 
in  the  autumn  of  1808,  between  a  young  officer  of  the 
Imperial  Army,  on  parole  in  Belford,  and  Jane  Lan- 
ham,  the  only  daughter,  the  only  surviving  child  of 
old  John  Lanham,  a  corn-chandler  in  the  town. 

Victor  d'Auberval,  the  officer  in  question,  was  a 
young  man  of  good  education,  considerable  talent,  and 
a  lively  and  ardent  character.  He  had  been  sent  as  a 
favour'to  Belford,  together  with  four  or  five  naval  offi- 
cers, with  whom  our  jeune  militaire  had  little  in  com- 


184 

mon  besides  his  country  and  his  misfortunes  ;  and 
although  incomparably  better  off  than  those  of  [his 
compatriotes  at  Norman  Cross  and  elsewhere,  who 
solaced  their  leisure  and  relieved  their  necessities 
by  cutting  dominoes  and  other  knick-knacks  out 
of  bone,  and  ornamenting  baskets  and  boxes  with 
flowers  and  landscapes  composed  of  coloured  straw, 
yet,  being  wholly  unnoticed  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
town,  and  obliged,  from  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  re- 
mittances, to  practise  occasionally  a  very  severe  eco- 
nomy, he  would  certainly  have  become  a  victim  to  the 
English  malady  with  a  French  name,  styled  ennui, 
had  he  not  been  preserved  from  that  calamity  by  fall- 
ing into  the  disease  of  all  climates,  called  love. 

Judging  merely  from  outward  circumstances,  no  one 
would  seem  less  likely  to  captivate  the  handsome  and 
brilliant  Frenchman  than  Jane  Lanham.  Full  four  or 
five  and  twenty,  and  looking  more,  of  a  common  height, 
common  size,  and,  but  for  her  beautiful  dark  eyes, 
common  features,  her  person  attired,  as  it  always  was, 
with  perfect  plainness  and  simplicity,  had  nothing  to 
attract  observation  ;  and  her  station,  as  the  daughter  of 
a  man  in  trade,  himself  a  rigid  dissenter,  and  living 
in  frugal  retirement,  rendered  their  meeting  at  -all  any- 
thing but  probable.  And  she,  grave,  orderly,  staid,  de- 
mure, she  that  eschewed  pink  ribbons  as  if  she  had 
been  a  female  Friend,  and  would  have  thought  it  some 
sin  to  wear  a  bow  of  any  hue  in  her  straw  bonnet,  who 
would  ever  have  dreamt  of  Jane  Lanham's  being  smit- 
ten with  a  tri-coloured  cockade  ? 

So  the  matter  fell  out. 

John  Lanham  was,  as  we  have  said,  a  corn-chandler 
in  Belford,  and  one  who,  in  spite  of  his  living  in  a 
small  dark  gloomy  house,  in  a  dark  narrow  lane  lead- 
ing from  one  great  street  to  another,  with  no  larger  es- 
tablishment than  one  maid  of  all  work  and  a  lad  to  take 
care  of  his  horse  and  chaise,  was  yet  reputed  to  pos- 
sess considerable  wealth.  He  was  a  dissenter  of  a 
sect  rigid  and  respectable  rather  than  numerous  ;  and 
it  was  quoted  in  proof  of  his  opulence,  that,  in  rebuild- 


185 

ing  the  chapel  which  he  attended,  he  had  himself  con- 
tributed the  magnificent  sum  of  three  thousand  pounds. 
He  had  lost  several  children  in  their  infancy,  and  his 
wife  had  died  in  bringing  Jane  into  the  world,  so  that 
the  father,  grave,  stern  and  severe  to  others,  was  yet 
bound  by  the  tenderest  of  all  ties,  that  of  her  entire 
helplessness  and  dependence,  to  his  motherless  girl, 
and  spared  nothing  that,  under  his  peculiar  views  of 
the  world,  could  conduce  to  her  happiness  and  well- 
being. 

His  chief  adviser  and  assistant  in  the  little  girl's 
education  was  his  old  friend  Mr.  Fenton,  the  minister 
of  the  congregation  to  which  he  belonged — a  man 
shrewd,  upright,  conscientious,  and  learned,  but  unfit- 
ted for  his  present  post  by  two  very  important  dis- 
qualifications.: first,  as  an  old  bachelor  who  knew  no 
more  of  the  bringing  up  of  children  than  of  the  train- 
ing of  race-horses  ;  secondly,  as  having  a  complete  and 
thorough  contempt  for  the  sex,  whom  he  considered 
as  so  many  animated  dolls,  or  ornamented  monkeys, 
frivolous  and  mischievous,  and  capable  of  nothing  bet- 
ter than  the  fulfilment  of  the  lowest  household  duties. 
4;  Teach  her  to  read  and  to  write,"  quoth  Mr.  Fenton, 
"  to  keep  accounts,  to  cut  out  a  shirt,  to  mend  stock- 
ings, to  make  a  pudding,  and  to  stay  within  doors,  and 
yon  will  have  done  your  duty." 

According  to  this  scale  Jane's  education  seemed 
likely  to  be  conducted,  when  a  short  visit  from  her 
mother's  sister,  just  as  she  had  entered  her  thirteenth 
year,  made  a  slight  addition  to  her  studies.  Her  aunt, 
a  sensible  and  cultivated  woman,  assuming  that  the 
young  person  who  was  bringing  up  with  ideas  so  limit- 
ed was  likely  to  inherit  considerable  property,  would 
fain  have  converted  Mr.  Lanham  to  her  own  more  en- 
larged and  liberal  views,  have  sent  her  to  a  good  school, 
or  have  engaged  an  accomplished  governess  ;  but  this 
attempt  ended  in  a  dispute  that  produced  a  total  estrange- 
ment between  the  parties,  and  the  only  fruit  of  her  re- 
monstrances was  the  attendance  of  the  good  Abbe  Vil- 
laret  as  a  French  master, — the  study  of  French  being, 
16* 


18G 

in  the  eyes  both  of  Mr.  Lanham  and  x\ir.  Fenton,  a 
considerably  less  abomination  than  that  of  music, 
drawing,  or  dancing.  "  She'll  make  nothing  of  it," 
thought  Mr.  Fenton  ;  "  I  myself  did  not,  though  I  was 
at  the  expense  of  a  grammar  and  a  dictionary,  and 
worked  at  it  an  hour  a  day  for  a  month.  She'll  make 
nothing  of  it,  so  she  may  as  well  try  as  not."  And 
the  Abbe  was  sent  for,  and  the  lessons  begun. 

This  was  a  new  era  in  the  life  of  Jane  Lanham. 
L'Abbe  Villaret  soon  discovered,  through  the  veil  of 
shyness,  awkwardness,  ignorance,  and  modesty,  the 
great  powers  of  his  pupil.  The  difficulties  of  the  lan- 
guage disappeared  as  by  magic,  and  she  whose  Eng- 
lish reading  had  been  restricted  to  the  commonest  ele- 
mentary books,  with  a  few  volumes  of  sectarian  devo- 
tion, and  '  Watt's  Hymns'  (for  poetry  she  had  never 
known,  except  the  magnificent  poetry  of  the  Scriptures, 
and  the  homely  but  heart-stirring  imaginations  of  the 
4  Pilgrim's  Progress'),  was  now  eagerly  devouring  the 
choicest  and  purest  morceaux  of  French  literature. 
Mr.  Fenton  having  interdicted  to  the  Abbe  the  use  of 
any  works  likely  to  convert  the  young  Protestant  to 
the  Catholic  faith,  and  Mr.  Lanham  (who  had  never 
read  one  in  his  life)  having  added  a  caution  against 
novels,  Jane  and  her  kind  instructor  were  left  in  other 
respects  free.  Her  father,  who  passed  almost  every 
day  in  the  pursuit  of  his  business  in  the  neighbouring 
towns,  and  his  pastor,  who  only  visited  him  of  an  even- 
ing, having  no  suspicion  of  the  many,  many  hours 
which  she  devoted  to  the  new-born  delight  of  poring 
over  books  ;  and  the  Abbe  knew  so  well  how  to  buy 
books  cheaply,  and  Mr.  Lanham  gave  him  money  for 
her  use  with  so  little  inquiry  as  to  its  destination,  that 
she  soon  accumulated  a  very  respectable  Fiench  li- 
brary. 

What  a  new  world  for  the  young  recluse  ! — Racine, 
Comeille,  Crebillon,  the  tragedies  and  histories  of 
Voltaire,  the  picturesque  revolutions  of  Vertot,  the  en- 
chanting letters  of  Madame  de  Sevigne,  the  Causes 
Celebres  (more  interesting  than  any  novels),  the  Me- 


187 

moires  de  Sully  (most  striking  and  most  naif  of  histo- 
ries), Telemaque,  the  Young  Anaeharsis,  the  purest 
comedies  of  Moliere  and  Regnard,  the  '  Fables  de  la 
Fontaine,  the  poems  of  Delille  and  of  Boileau,  the 
Vert- Vert  of  Gresset,  Le  Pere  Brumoy's  Theatre  des 
Grecs,  Madame  Dacier's  Homer  ; — these,  and  a  hun- 
dred books  like  these,  burst  as  a  freshly  acquired  sense 
upon  the  shy  yet  ardent  girl.  It  was  like  the  recovery 
of  sight  to  one  become  blind  in  infancy;  and  the  kind- 
ness of  the  Abbe,  who  delighted  in  answering  her  in- 
quiries and  directing  her  taste,  increased  a  thousand- 
fold the  profit  and  the  pleasure  which  she  derived  from 
her  favourite  authors. 

Excepting  her  good  old  instructor,  she  had  no  con- 
fidant. Certain  that  they  would  feel  no  sympathy  in 
her  gratification,  she  never  spoke  of  her  books  either 
to  her  father  or  Mr.  Fenton ;  and  they,  satisfied  with 
M.  1' Abbe's  calm  report  of  her  attention  to  his  lessons, 
made  no  further  inquiries.  Her  French  studies  were, 
she  felt,  for  herself,  and  herself  alone  ;  and  when  his 
tragical  death  deprived  her  of  the  friend  and  tutor  whom 
she  had  so  entirely  loved  and  respected,  reading  be- 
came more  and  more  a  solitary  pleasure.  Outwardly 
calm,  silent,  and  retiring,  an  affectionate  daughter,  an 
excellent  housewife,  and  an  attentive  hostess,  she  was 
Mr.  Fenton' s  beau  ideal  of  a  young  woman.  Little 
did  he  suspect  the  glowing,  enthusiastic,  and  concen- 
trated character  that  lurked  under  that  cold  exterior — 
the  fire  that  was  hidden  under  that  white  and  virgin 
snow.  Purer  than  she  really  was  he  could  not  Fancy 
her,  but  never  would  he  have  divined  how  much  of 
tenderness  and  firmness  was  mingled  with  that  youth- 
ful purity,  or  how  completely  he  had  himself,  by  a  life 
of  restraint  and  seclusion,  prepared  her  mind  to  yield 
to  an  engrossing  and  lasting  passion. 

Amongst  her  beloved  French  books,  those  which 
she  preferred  were  undoubtedly  the  tragedies,  the  only 
dramas  which  had  ever  fallen  in  her  way,  and  which 
exercised  over  her  imagination  the  full  power  of  that 
most  striking  and  delightful  of  any  species  of  literature. 


188 

We  who  know  Shakspeare, — who  have  known  him 
from  our  childhood,  and.  are,  as  it  wrere,  "  to  his  man- 
ner born," — feel  at  once  that,  compared  with  that  great- 
est of  poets,  the  "  belles  tirades"  of  Racine  and  of  Cor- 
neille  are  cold,  and  false,  and  wearisome  ;  but  to  one 
who  had  no  such  standard  by  which  to  measure  the 
tragic  dramatists  of  France,  the  mysterious  and  thrilling 
horrors  of  the  old  Greek  stories  which  their  tragedies 
so  frequently  embodied, — the  woes  of  Thebes,  the 
fated  line  of  Pelops,  the  passion  of  Phaedra,  and  the 
desolation  of  Antigone, — were  full  of  a  strange  and 
fearful  power.  Nor  was  the  spell  confined  to  the  clas- 
sical plays.  The  "  Tragedies  Chretiennes,"— -Esther 
and  Athalie,  Polyeucte  and  Alzire, — excited  at  least 
equal  interest  ;  while  the  contest  between  love  and  "  la 
force  du  sang,"  in  the  Cid  and  Zaire,  struck  upon  her 
with  all  the  power  of  a  predestined  sympathy.  She 
felt  that  she  herself  was  born  to  such  a  trial ;  and  the 
presentiment  was,  perhaps,  as  so  often  happens,  in  no 
small  degree  the  cause  of  its  own  accomplishment. 

The  accident  by  which  she  became  acquainted  with 
Victor  d'Auberval  may  be  told  in  a  very  few  words. 

The  nurse  who  had  taken  to  her  on  the  death  of  her 
mother,  and  who  still  retained  for  her  the  strong  affec- 
tion so  often  inspired  by  foster  children,  was  the  wife 
of  a  respectable  publican  in  Queen-street,  and  being  of 
excellent  private  character,  and  one  of  Mr.  Fenton's 
congregation,  was  admitted  to  see  Jane  whenever  she 
liked,  in  a  somewhat  equivocal  capacity  between  a 
visiter  and  a  dependant. 

One  evening  she  came  in  great  haste  to  say  that  a 
Bristol  coach,  which  inned  at  the  Red  Lion,  had  just 
dropped  there  two  foreigners,  a  man  and  a  woman,  one 
of  whom  seemed  to  her  fancy  dying,  whilst  both  ap- 
peared miserably  poor,  and  neither  could  speak  a  word 
to  be  understood.  Would  her  dear  child  come  and  in- 
terpret for  the  sick  lady  ? 

Jane  went  immediately.  They  were  German  mu- 
sicians, on  their  way  to  Bristol,  where  they  hoped  to 


189 

meet  a  friend,  and  to  procure  employment.  In  the 
meanwhile,  the  illness  of  the  wife  had  stopped  them 
on  their  journey  ;  and  their  slender  funds  were,  as  the 
husband  modestly  confessed,  little  calculated  to  en- 
counter the  expenses  of  medical  assistance  and  an  Eng- 
lish inn. 

Jane  promised  to  represent  the  matter  to  her  father, 
who,  although  hating  Frenchmen  and  papists  (both  of 
which  he  assumed  the  foreigners  to  be)  with  a  hatred 
eminently  British  and  Protestant,  was  yet  too  good  a 
Christian  to  refuse  moderate  relief  to  fellow-creatures  in 
distress  ;  and  between  Mr.  Lanham's  contributions  and 
the  good  landlady's  kindness,  and  what  Jane  could 
spare  from  her  own  frugally-supplied  purse,  the  poor 
Austrians  (for  they  were  singers  from  Vienna)  were 
enabled  to  bear  up  during  a  detention  of  many  days. 

Before  they  resumed  their  journey,  their  kind  inter- 
preter had  heard  from  the  good  hostess  that  they  had 
found  another  friend,  almost  as  poor  as  themselves, 
and  previously  unacquainted  with  them,  in  a  French 
officer  on  parole  in  the  town,  to  whom  the  simple 
fact  of  their  being  foreigners  in  distress  in  a  strange 
land  had  supplied  the  place  of  recommendation  or  in- 
troduction ;  and  when  going  the  next  day,  laden  with 
a  few  comforts  for  Madame,  to  bid  them  farewell,  and 
to  see  them  off,  she  met,  for  the  first  time,  the  young 
officer,  who  had  been  drawn  by  similar  feelings  to  the 
door  of  the  Eed  Lion. 

It  was  a  bitter  December  day — one  of  those  north- 
east winds  which  seem  to  blow  through  you,  and 
which  hardly  any  strength  can  stand ;  and  as  the  poor 
German,  in  a  thin  summer  waistcoat  and  a  thread- 
bare coat,  took  his  seat  on  the  top  of  the  coach,  shi- 
vering from  head  to  foot,  and  his  teeth  already  chatter- 
ing, amidst  the  sneer  of  the  bear-skinned  coachman, 
muffled  up  to  his  ears,  and  his  warmly-clad  fellow- 
passengers,  Victor  took  off  his  own  great-coat,  tossed 
it  smilingly  to  the  freezing  musician,  and  walked  rapid- 
ly away  as  the  coach  drove  off,  uttering  an  exclama- 


190 

tion  somewhat  similar  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  at  Zut- 
phen — "  He  wants  it  more  than  I  do."* 

My  friend,  Mr.  Serle,  has  said,  in  one  the  finest 
plays  of  this  century,  richer  in  great  plays,  let  the  cri- 
tics rail  as  they  will,  than  any  age  since  the  time  of 
Elizabeth  and  her  immediate  successor, — Mr.  Serle, 
speaking  of  the  master-passion,  has  said,  in  "  The 
Merchant  of  London," — 

"  How  many  doors  or  entrances  hath  love 

Into  the  heart  ? — 

As  many  as  the  senses  : 

All  are  love's  portals  ;  though,  when  the  proudest  comes, 

He  comes  as  conquerors  use,  by  his  own  path — 

And  sympathy's  that  breach." 

x\nd  this  single  instance  of  sympathy  and  fellow-feel- 
ing (for  the  grateful  Germans  had  spoken  to  M.  d'Au- 
berval  of  Miss  Lanham's  kindness)  sealed  the  destiny 
of  two  warm  hearts. 

Victor  soon  contrived  to  get  introduced  to  Jane,  by 
their  mutual  friend,  the  landlady  of  the  Red  Lion  ; 
and,  after  that  introduction,  he  managed  to  meet  her 
accidentally  whenever  there  was  no  danger  of  interrup- 
tion or  discovery,  which,  as  Jane  had  always  been  in 
the  habit  of  taking  long,  solitary  walks,  happened,  it 
must  be  confessed,  pretty  often.  He  was  charmed  at 
the  piquant  contrast  between  her  shy,  retiring  manners 
and  her  ardent  and  enthusiastic  character,  and  his  na- 
tional vanity  found  a  high  gratification  in  her  profi- 
ciency in,  and  fondness  for,  his  language  and  litera- 
ture ;  whilst  she  (so  full  of  contradictions  is  love)  found 
no  less  attraciion  in  his  ignorance  of  English.  She 
liked  to  have  something  to  teach  her  quick  and  lively 
pupil ;  and  he  repaid  her  instructions  by  enlarging  her 
knowledge  of  French  authors — by  introducing  to  her 
the  beautiful,  though  dangerous,  pages  of  Rousseau,  the 
light  and  brilliant  writers  of  memoirs,  and  the  higher 

*  St.  Martin  was  canonized  for  an  act  altogether  similar  to 
that  of  Victor  d'Auberval. 


191 

devotional  eloquence  of  Bossuet,  Ms^illon,  and  Bour- 
daloue,  the  Lettres  Spirituelles  of  Fenelon,  and  the 
equally  beautiful,  though  very  different,  works  of  Le 
Pere  Pascal. 

So  time  wore  on.  The  declaration  of  love  had  beeu 
made  by  one  party;  and  the  confession  that  that  love 
was  returned  had  been  reluctantly  extorted  from  the 
other.  Of  what  use  was  that  confession  ?  Never,  as 
Jane  declared,  would  she  marry  to  displease  her  father  ; 
— and  how,  knowing  as  she  well  did  all  his  prejudices, 
could  she  hope  for  his  consent  to  an  union  with  a 
prisoner,  a  soldier,  a  Frenchman,  a  Catholic  ?  Even 
Victor  felt  the  impossibility. 

Still  neither  could  forego  the  troubled  happiness  of 
these  stolen  interviews,  chequered  as  they  were  with 
present  alarms  and  future  fears.  Jane  had  no  confi- 
dant. The  reserve  and  perhaps  the  pride  of  her  cha- 
racter prevented  her  confessing  even  to  her  affectionate 
nurse  a  clandestine  attachment.  But  she  half  feared 
that  her  secret  was  suspected  at  least,  if  not  wholly 
known,  bv  Mr.  Fenton  ;  and  if  known  to  him.  assured- 
ly it  would  be  disclosed  to  her  father ;  and  the  manner 
in  which  a  worthy,  wealthy,  and  disagreeable  London 
suitor  was  pressed  on  her  by  both  (for  hitherto  Mr. 
Lanham  had  seemed  averse  to  her  marrying)  confirmed 
her  in  the  apprehension. 

Still,  however,  they  continued  to  meet,  until  sud- 
denly, and  without  any  warning,  the  exchange  that 
restored  him  to  his  country,  and  tore  him  from  her 
who  had  been  his  consolation  in  captivity,  buist  on 
them  like  a  thunderclap  ;  and  then  Jane,  with  all  the 
inconsistency  of  a  woman's  heart,  forgot  her  own  vows 
never  to  marry  him  without  the  consent  of  her  father, 
forgot  how  impossible  it  appeared  that  that  consent 
should  ever  be  obtained,  and  dwelt  wholly  on  the  fear 
of  his  inconstancy,  on  the  chance  of  his  meeting  some 
fair,  and  young,  and  fascinating  Frenchwoman,  and 
forgetting 'his  own  Jane;  whilst  he  again  and  again 
pledged  himself,  when  peace  should  come,  to  return  to 
Belford  and  carry  home  in  triumph  the  only  woman  he 


192 

could  ever  love.  Until  that  happy  day,  they  agreed, 
in  the  absence  of  any  safe  medium  of  communication, 
that  it  would  be  better  not  to  write  ;  and  so,  in  the 
midst  of  despondency  on  the  one  side,  and  ardent  and 
sincere  protestations  on  the  other,  they  parted. 

Who  shall  describe  Jane's  desolation  during  the  long 
and  dreary  winter  that  succeeded  their  separation  ? 
That  her  secret  was  known,  or,  at  least,  strongly  sus- 
pected, appeared  to  her  certain ;  and  she  more  than 
guessed  that  her  father's  forbearance  in  not  putting  in- 
to words  the  grieved  displeasure  which  he  evidently 
felt,  was  owing  to  the  kind,  but  crabbed  old  bachelor, 
Mr.  Fenton,  whose  conduct  towards  herself,  or  rather 
whose  opinion  of  her  powers  appeared  to  have  under- 
gone a  considerable  change,  who,  giving  her  credit  for 
strength  of  mind,  seemed  chiefly  bent  on  spurring  her 
on  to  exert  that  strength  to  the  utmost.  He  gave  proof 
of  that  knowledge  of  human  nature  which  the  dissent- 
ing ministers  so  frequently  possess,  by  seeking  to  turn 
her  thoughts  into  a  different  channel,  and  by  bringing 
her  Milton  and  Cowper,  and  supplying  her  with  Eng- 
lish books  of  history  and  theology,  together  with  the 
lives  of  many  pious  and  eminent  men  of  his  own  per- 
suasion, succeeded  not  only  in  leading  her  into  an  in- 
teresting and  profitable  course  of  reading,  but  in  beguil- 
ing her  into  an  unexpected  frankness  of  discussion  on 
the  subject  of  her  new  studies. 

In  these  discussions,  he  soon  found  the  talent  of  the 
young  person  whom  he  had  so  long  undervalued  ;  and 
constant  to  his  contempt  for  the  sex,  (a  heresy  from 
which  a  man  who  has  fallen  into  it  seldom  recovers,) 
began  to  consider  her  as  a  splendid  exception  to  the 
general  inanity  of  woman,  a  good  opinion  which  re- 
ceived further  confirmation  from  her  devoted  attention 
to  her  father,  who  was  seized  with  a  lingering  illness 
about  a  twelvemonth  after  the  departure  of  Victor,  of 
which  he  finally  died,  after  languishing  for  nearly  two 
years,  kept  alive  only  by  the  tender  and  incessant 
cares  of  his  daughter,  and  the  sympathizing  visits  of 
his  friend. 


■  U   •      El      ■      W  " 


193 

On  opening  the  will,  his  beloved  daughter.  Jane, 
was  found  sole  heiress  to  a  fortune  of  £70,000  ;  unless 
she  should  intermarry  with  a  soldier,  a  papist,  or  a 
foreigner,  in  which  case  the  entire  property  was  be- 
queathed unreservedly  to  the  Rev.  Samuel  Fenton,  to 
be  disposed  of  by  him  according  to  his  sole  will  and 
pleasure. 

Miss  Lanham  was  less  affected  by  this  clause  than 
might  have  been  expected.  Three  years  had  now 
elapsed  from  the  period  of  separation  ;  and  she  had 
been  so  well  obeyed,  as  never  to  have  received  one  line 
from  Victor  d'Auberval.  She  feared  that  he  was  dead  ; 
she  tried  to  hope  that  he  was  unfaithful;  and  the  tre- 
mendous number  of  officers  that  had  fallen  in  Napo- 
leon's last  battles  rendered  the  former  by  far  the  more 
probable  catastrophe  ;  even  if  he  had  not  previously 
fallen,  the  Russian  campaign  threatened  extermination 
to  the  French  army,  and  poor  Jane,  in  whose  bosom 
hope  had  long  lain  dormant,  hardly  regarded  this  fresh 
obstacle  to  her  unhappy  love.  She  felt  that  hers  was 
a  wTidowed  heart,  and  that  her  future  comfort  must  be 
sought  in  the  calm  pleasures  of  literature,  and  in  con- 
tributing all  that  she  could  to  the  happiness  of  others. 

Attached  to  Belford  by  long  habit,  and  by  the  recol- 
lection of  past  happiness  and  past  sorrows,  she  conti- 
nued in  her  old  dwelling,  making  little  other  alteration 
in  her  way  of  life,  than  that  of  adding  two  or  three 
servants  to  her  establishment,  and  offering  a  home  to 
her  mother's  sister,  the  aunt  to  whose  intervention  she 
owed  the  doubtful  good  of  that  proficiency  in  French 
which  had  introduced  her  to  Victor,  and  whom  un- 
foreseen events  had  now  reduced  to  absolute  poverty. 

In  her  she  found  an  intelligent  and  cultivated  com- 
panion, and  in  her  society  and  that  of  Mr.  Fenton,  and 
in  the  delight  of  a  daily  increasing  library,  her  days 
passed  calmly  and  pleasantly  ;  when,  in  spite  of  all 
her  resolutions,  her  serenity  was  disturbed  by  the  vic- 
tories of  the  Allies,  the  fall*  of  Napoleon,  the  capture 
of  Paris,  and  the  peace  of  Europe.  Was  Victor  dead 
or  alive  ?  Faithless  or  constant  ?  Would  he  seek  her  ? 
17 


194 

and  seeking  her,  what  would  be  his  disappointment  at 
the  clause  that  parted  them  for  ever  ?  Ought  she  to 
remain  in  Belford  ?  Was  there  no  way  of  ascertain- 
ing his  fate  ? 

She  was  revolving  these  questions  for  the  hundredth 
time,  when  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  the 
servant  announced  Colonel  d'Auberval. 

There  is  no  describing  such  meetings.  After 
sketching  rapidly  his  fortunes  since  they  had  parted ; 
how  he  disobeyed  her  by  writing,  and  how  he  had 
since  found  that  bis  letters  had  miscarried ;  and  after 
brief  assurances  that  in  his  eyes  she  was  more  than 
ever  charming,  had  gained  added  grace,  expression,  and 
intelligence,  Jane  began  to  communicate  to  him,  at  first 
with  much  agitation,  afterwards  with  collected  calm- 
ness, the  clause  in  the  will,  by  which  she  forfeited  all 
her  property  in  marrying  him. 

"  Is  it  not  cruel,"  added  she,  "  to  have  lost  the  power 
of  enriching  him  whom  I  love?" 

44  You  do  love  me,  then,  still  ?"  exclaimed  Victor. 
44  Blessings  on  you  for  that  word !  You  are  still  con- 
stant?" 

44  Constant !  Oh,  if  you  could  have  seen  my  heart 
during  these  long,  long  years  !  If  you  could  have 
imagined  how  the  thought  of  you  mingled  with  every 
recollection,  every  feeling,  every  hope  !  Bat  to  bring 
you  a  pennyless  wife,  Victor — for  even  the  interest  of 
this  money  since  my  father's  death,  which  might  have 
been  a  little  portion,  I  have  settled  upon  my  poor  aunt 
— to  take  advantage  of  your  generosity,  and  burihen 
you  with  a  dowerless  wife,  never  handsome,  no  longer 
young,  inferior  to  you  in  every  way — ought  I  to  do 
so  ?  Would  it  be  just  ?  Would  it  be  right  ?  Answer 
me,  Victor  ?" 

44  Rather  tell  me,  would  it  be  just  and  right  to  de- 
prive you  of  the  splendid  fortune  you  would  use  so 
well  ?  Would  you,  for  my  sake,  for  love,  and  for 
competence,  forego  the  wealth  which  is  your  own  ?" 

44  Would  I  ?     Oh,  how  can  you  ask  ?" 

44  Will  you,  then,  my  own  Jane  ?  Say  yes,  dearest, 


195 

and  never  will  we  think  of  this  money  again.  I  have 
a  mother  worthy  to  be  yours — a  mother  who  will  love 
and  value  you  as  you  deserve  to  be  loved  ;  and  an  estate 
with  a  small  chateau  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees,  beauti- 
ful enough  to  make  an  emperor  forget  his  throne. 
Share  it  with  me,  and  we  shall  be  happier  in  that 
peaceful  retirement  than  ever  monarch  was  or  can  be  ! 
You  love  the  country.  You  have  lost  none  of  the 
simplicity  which  belonged  to  you,  alike  from  taste  and 
from  habit.  You  will  not  miss  these  riches  ?" 
"Oh,  no!  no!" 

"  And  you  will  be  mine  dearest  and  faithfullest  ? 
Mine,  heart  and  hand  ?  Say  yes,  mine  own  Jane !" 

And  Jane  did  whisper,  between  smiles  and  tears, 
that  "  yes,"  which  her  faithful  lover  was  never  weary 
of  hearing  ;  and  in  a  shorter  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it, 
all  the  details  of  the  marriage  were  settled. 

In  the  evening,  Mr.  Fenton,  wThom  MissLanham  had 
invited  to  tea,  arrived  ;  and  in  a  few  simple  words, 
Jane  introduced  Colonel  d'Auberval,  explained  their 
mutual  situation,  and  declared  her  resolution  of  relin- 
quishing immediately  the  fortune  which,  by  her  father's 
will,  would  be  triply  forfeited  by  her  union  with  a 
soldier,  a  foreigner,  and  a  Catholic. 

"  And  your  religion  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Fenton,  some- 
what sternly. 

"  Shall  ever  be  sacred  in  my  eyes,"  replied  Victor, 
solemnly.  "  My  own  excellent  mother  is  herself  a 
Protestant  and  a  Calvinist.  There  is  a  clergyman  of 
that  persuasion  at  Bayonne.  She  shall  find  every 
facility  for  the  exercise  of  her  own  mode  of  worship. 
I  should  love  her  less  if  I  thought  her  capable  of 
change." 

*'  Well,  but  this  money — Are  you  sure,  young  man, 
that  you  yourself  will  not  regret  marrying  a  portionless 

"  Quite  sure.  1  knew  nothing  of  her  fortune.  It 
was  a  portionless  wife  that  I  came  hither  to  seek." 

"  And  you,  Jane  ?  Can  you  abandon  this  wealth 
which,  properly  used,  comprises  in  itself  the  blessed 


196 

power  of  doing  good,  of  relieving  misery,  of  conferring 
happiness  ?  Can  you  leave  your  home,  your  country" 
and  your  friends  ?" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Fenton  !"  replied  Jane,  "  I  shall  regret 
none  but  you.  His  home  will  be  my  home,  his  coun- 
try my  country.  My  dear  aunt  will,  I  hope,  accom- 
pany us.  I  shall  leave  nothing  that  I  love  but  you,  my 
second  father.  And  for  this  fortune  which,  used  as  it 
should  be  used,  is  indeed  a  blessing — do  I  not  leave  it 
in  your  hands  ?  And  am  I  not  sure  that  with  you  it 
will  be  a  fund  for  relieving  misery  and  conferring  hap- 
piness !  I  feel  that  if,  at  this  moment,  he  whom  I 
have  lost  could  see  into  my  heart,  he  would  approve 
my  resolution,  and  would  bless  the  man  who  had 
shown  such  disinterested  affection  for  his  child."' 

"In  his  name  and  my  own,  /  bless  you,  my  chil- 
dren/' rejoined  Mr.  Fenton  ;  "  and  as  his  act  and  my 
own  do  I  restore  to  you  the  forfeited  money.  No  re- 
fusals, young  man  !  No  arguments  !  No  thanks  !  It 
is  yours  and  yours  only.  Listen  to  me,  Jane.  This 
will,  for  which  any  one  less  generous  and  disinterest- 
ed than  yourself  would  have  hated  me,  was  made,  as 
you  must  have  suspected,  under  my  direction.  I  had 
known  from  your  friend,  the  hostess  of  the  Red  Lion, 
of  your  mutual  attachment ;  and  was  on  the  point  of 
putting  a  stop  to  your  interviews,  when  an  exchange, 
unexpected  by  all  parties,  removed  M.  d'Auberval  from 
Belford.  After  your  separation,  it  would  have  been 
inflicting  needless  misery  to  have  reproached  you  with 
an  intercourse  which  we  had  every  reason  to  believe 
completely  at  an  end.  I  prevailed  on  my  good  friend 
to  conceal  his  knowledge  of  the  engagement,  and  tried 
all  I  could  to  turn  your  thoughts  into  a  different  chan- 
nel. By  these  means  I  became  gradually  acquainted 
with  your  firmness  and  strength  of  mind,  your  ardour 
and  your  sensibility  ;  and  having  made  minute  and 
searching  inquiries  into  the  character  of  your  lover,  I 
began  to  think,  little  as  an  old  bachelor  is  supposed  to 
know  of  those  matters,  that  an  attachment  between  two 
such  persons  was  likely  to  be  an  attachment  for  lite  : 


197 

and  I  prevailed  on  Mr.  Lanham  to  add  to  his  will  the 
clause  that  you  have  seen,  that  we  might  prove  the  dis- 
interestedness as  well  as  the  constancy  of  the  lovers. 
Both  are  proved,"  continued  the  good  old  man,  a  smile 
of  the  purest  benevolence  softening  his  rugged  features, 
*•  both  are  proved  to  my  entire  satisfaction  ;  and — 
soldier,  Frenchman,  and  Papist  though  he  be — the 
sooner  I  join  your  hands  and  get  quit  of  this  money, 
the  better.  Not  a  word,  my  dear  Jane,  unless  to  fix 
the  day.  Surely  you  are  not  going  to  compliment  me 
for  doing  my  duty  ?  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  part 
with  her,  though,  well  as  you  deserve  her,"  continued 
he,  turning  to  Colonel  d'Auberval ;  "you  must  bring 
her  sometimes  to  Belford  ;"  and,  passing  the  back  of 
his  withered  hand  across  his  eyes  to  brush  off  the  un- 
usual softness,  the  good  dissenting  minister  walked 
out  of  the  room. 


\V 


198 


THE  WIDOW. 


Mine  has  been  a  troublous  and  a  perilous  life  in  mat- 
ters of  love  ;  no  sooner  have  I  emerged  from  one  ocean 
of  sighs  and  tears,  than  I  have  plunged  headlong  into 
another.  It  is  passing  strange  that  I  never  fell  into 
matrimony  in  my  very  early  days  ;  my  father  did  so, 
and  so  did  my  mother,  and  also  my  respected  grand- 
dame.  She,  good  soul,  originally  Miss  Letitia  Simp- 
son, at  fifteen  married  her  first  husband,  a  Mr.  JefFery 
Wilson  ;  at  sixteen,  gave  birth  to  my  mother.  Her 
husband  then  died  without  any  other  issue,  leaving  her 
jnore  than  well  provided  for.  At  seventeen,  she  es- 
poused a  Mr.  "Winck worth,  who,  in  his  turn,  consign- 
ed her  to  single  blessedness  and  a  fat  dower;  after 
which,  having  quarrelled  with  all  her  race,  or  all  her 
race  with  her,  she  abjured  them  and  the  realm,  betook 
herself  to  the  Continent,  and  was  barely  heard  of  af- 
terwards. My  mother,  following  one  part  of  her  ex- 
ample, married  at  sixteen,  and  enriched  the  world 
with  me  at  seventeen.  Fate,  however,  I  suppose,  (for 
I  am  a  believer  in  fate,)  destined  me  to — 

"  Waste  my  sweets  upon  the  desert  air  ;" 

and  thus  onlv  can  I  account  for  my  escaping  all  the 
matronly  and  matrimonial  snares  that  beset  me  in  ray 
youth.     But  to  my  tale. 

On  my  arrival  on  the  Continent,  I  had  been  but  a 
short  time  at ,  when  my  health  visibly  and  se- 
riously declined,  and  the  medical  men  who  attended  me 
advised  a  visit  to for  its  restoration.  In  accord- 
ance with  their  directions,  I,  nothing  loth,  (for  a  seat 
at  a  desk  never  was  a  desideratum  with  me,)  sat  out ; 


199 

and,  as  I  was  alone,  was  not  over  enamoured  of  my 
monosyllabic  patronyme,  assumed  one  more  suited  to 
the  euphony  of  a  billet-doux;  and  having-,  therefore,  re- 
baptized  myself,  I  made  my  appearance  at  my  jour- 
ney's end  as  Augustus  Montagu,  with,  moreover,  a  dash 
of  black  down  on  my  upper  lip,  which  I  dignified,  to 
my  own  mind,  with  the  title  of  moustache.     Thus 

yclept,  and  thus  accoutred,  I  began  my  way  at ; 

and,  by  dint  of  my  modest  looks,  a  little  foppery,  and 
my  good  name,  I  shortly  won  my  way  into  a  circle  of 
acquaintance. 

At  a  party  to  which  I  had,  through  these  means, 
been  asked,  I  one  night  met  a  Madame  Perollet,  whose 
appearance,  and  more,  her  sufferance  of  my  attentions, 
made  some  impression  upon  me.  She  was  an  ex- 
tremely fine  woman,  and  English,  seemingly  about 
five-and-thirty,  though  less-favoured  fair  ones  spoke  of 
her  having  numbered  fifty  years.  Her  hair  and  eyes 
were  of  the  blackest ;  her  eye-lashes  of  the  same 
colour,  and  long,  thick,  and  silky  ;  her  complexion  fair, 
but  not  ruddy,  such  as  best  contrasts  with,  and  best  be- 
comes, the  raven  lock;  her  features  were  more  beau- 
tiful in  their  expression  than  in  their  individuality, 
although  then  even  they  were  beautiful;  her  teeth 
were  the  finest  I  ever  saw  ;  and  I  opine  no  woman 
can  lay  claim  to  beauty  who  cannot  show,  nay, 
even  display,  her  teeth.  She  bore  an  easy,  digni- 
nified,  and  complacent  smile ;  her  figure  was  of  the 
strictest  proportions,  and  her  carriage  most  graceful ; 
moreover,  she  was  rich,  and  consequently  aimable. 
She  was  a  widow,  too  ;  and,  with  all  these  qualifica- 
tions, of  course  was  greatly  sought  after  by  the  men. 
But  she  had  se4nse  and  caution  ;  and  while  she  smiled 
on  all,  and  enamoured  many,  she  never  gave  more  than 
hope,  and  preserved  all  her  own  freedom.  The  women, 
who  wished  her  dead,  or  married,  consequently  called 
her  a  coquette,  and  some  of  the  vieux  gargons  agreed 
with  them — but  this  was  suspicious  evidence  ;  while 
the  younger  men,  whom  the  aunts  and  mothers  of 


200 

standing  spinsters  admonished  to  beware  of  the  widow, 
only  bowed,  and  then  turned  on  their  heel  to  laugh. 

The  first  time  I  met  her,  a  glove  which  she  dropped, 
and  which  I  proffered  her,  gave  me  an  opportunity  of 
opening  a  conversation  with  her.  At  first,  conscious 
of  my  youth,  I  hesitated  a  little,  although  my  looks 
bespoke  an  age  riper,  by  some  years,  than  I  had  at- 
tained ;  but  her  answers  were  so  mild,  so  suave,  and 
so  condescending, — her  manner  to  me  so  kind  and 
easy, — and  her  whole  conduct  so  engaging  and  assur- 
ing,— that,  before  I  left  her,  I  had,  although  blushing- 
ly,  adventured  on  some  little  gallant  badinage,  for  which, 
to  the  mortification  of  my  elder  competitors,  she  shook 
her  little  delicate  finger  at  me,  and  tapped  me  with  her 
fan.  Encouraged  thus,  I  might  have  proceeded  farther  ; 
but  as  she  knew  how  to  commence  a  conquest,  so  she 
knew  how  to  continue  one ;  and  assuming  a  dignity, 
not  violent,  but  perceptible,  she  restrained  my  further 
advances  :  and  being  even  then  sensible  that  an  inde- 
pendent respect  is  the  surest  way  to  a  woman's  heart, 
(for  I  had  begun  to  think  of  hers,)  I  contented  myself, 
for  that  time,  by  expressing  a  hope  that  I  should  have 
the  happiness  to  meet  her  again,  and  bowed  myself 
away. 

That  night  I  rose  fifty  per  cent,  in  my  own  esteem. 
"  Truly,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  the  man  whom  that  wo- 
man distinguishes  must  own  some  attractions  :  she  is  a 
lovely  and  an  intellectual  specimen  of  her  sex  ;  to  pos- 
sess the  love  of  such  a  one  would  be  something  to 
pride  one's  self  on.  What  honour  is  the  love  of  a  giddy, 
indiscriminating  girl,  who  runs  the  market  of  matri- 
mony with  her  heart  in  her  hand  eager  to  bestow  it  on 
the  first  bidder  I — Truly,  I'll  be  a  chapman  no  more 
for  such  common  wares.  But,  vanity  !  vanity  !  Can 
the  rich,  beautiful,  sought,  and  at  an  age  when  pru- 
dence has  mastered  passion,  think  of  such  a  one  as 
me  ?  Yet  she  seemed  very  kind."  "  But  kindness 
never  marries,"  said  a  still,  small  voice.  "  Yet  she 
ofttimes  gives  birth  to  love,"  I   thought,  in  answer. 


it-j  ■    a    m 


201 

li  But  she  is  wealthy,  has  a  wide  range  for  choice,  is 
a  widow,  and  has  the  whole  town  after  her,"  replied 
my  monitor.  "  True,  true,"  I  whispered  ;  "  but  she 
has  interested  me,  and  by I'll  try  it!" 

Again  we  met — "  Et  je  contais  encore  quelques 
fleurettes."  The  widow  smiled  at  them,  and  threat- 
ened, if  I  persisted,  to  reprove  me.  "  Cela  va  bien," 
said  I  to  myself,  and  I  retired  ;  for  my  vanity,  or  little 
else,  was  as  yet  interested. 

A  third  time  we  met.  "  Now  then,  Ephraim," 
said  I,  "  for  the  coup  d'essai — this  time  you  must  be 
serious  and  distant,  and  if  she  has  thought  upon  you, 
the  result  will  tell."  I  approached  her  with  a  low  and 
most  respectful  reverence  ;  inquired  after  her  health ; 
without  giving  her  time  to  answer,  made  some  dry  re- 
marks on  the  wet  weather  ;  broached  a  recent  murder; 
remarked  on  the  Almanac,  and  the  last  new  flounce  ; 
and  was  retiring,  when  she  said — 

"But,  Mr.  Montagu,  I  wish  to  trouble  you  with  a 
commission,  if  you  can  find  time  to  execute  it  for 
me." 

I  assured  her  I  was  at  her  service. 

"  Then  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  see  my  car- 
riage ordered  here  at  twelve,  as  I  have  been  out  all  the 
week,  and  am  fatigued.  Perhaps  you  will  let  me  know 
when  it  is  at  the  door,  as  I  don't  wish  to  be  seen  leav- 
ing so  early." 

"  Aliens,  mon  bon  ami,  Ephraim,"  thought  I ;  "  cela 
va  du  mieux."  And  thanking  her  for  the  honour  of  her 
commands  in  a  tone  of  deep  and  grateful  respect,  I  left 
her  to  execute  them. 

That  done,  and  twelve  o'clock  came,  I  made  my 
way  to  her.  She  was  seated  near  the  door,  and  whis- 
pering to  her  (for  the  secrecy  she  wished  me  to  prac- 
tise gave  me  the  privilege  to  do  so,)  that  the  carriage  was 
ready',  I  offered  myself  as  her  escort  to  it.  She  accepted 
my  offer,  and  placed  her  arm  within  mine  ;  as  she  did  so, 
I  felt  a  fluttering  in  my  heart  I  was  unprepared  for,  and 
as  the  staircase  was  deserted,  I  looked  up  in  trembling 
and  confusion  into  her  face,  and  perceived  she  looked 


202 

at  me.  One  instant  our  eyes  met,  and  the  next  they 
were  cast  down  or  averted,  and  I  thought  the  confu- 
sion was  mutual— 1  positively  shook.  As  I  handed  her 
into  the  carriage,  I  stammered  out  an  expression  of 
hope  that  she  would  feel  relieved  from  her  fatigue  next 
day,  and  begged  her  permission  to  call  and  inquire  af- 
ter her  health  in  the  morning :  a  gracious  smile,  and  a 
graceful  inclination  of  the  head,  answered  me,  and  the 
coach  drove  off. 

"  Fool,"  said  I,  as  I  slowly  reascended,  "  to  match 
your  puny  wits  against  a  woman's  charms  and  wiles  ! 
Your  own  weak  snares  have  entrapped  you." 

In  the  morning,  having  dressed  myself  with  more 
than  ordinary  care,  I  found  myself,  about  two  o'clock, 
with  a  very  unsettled  pulse,  at  Madame  Perollet's 
door;  and  being  announced,  was  ushered  into  the 
drawing-room,  where  the  widow  was  seated  on  a  couch, 
at  a  small  and  elegantly-carved  writing-table,  drawing 
her  small  white  hands  over  some  invitation  cards.  The 
usual  inquiries  made  and  answered,  our  conversation 
turned  on  the  previous  night's  party,  and  she  told  me 
she  was  busy  when  I  entered  writing  cards  for  one  of 
her  own. 

"  But  do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  I  write  so  little 
lately  that  my  hand  is  quite  stiff,  and  I  am  so  awkward. 
See,''  said  she,  laying  it  over  the  table  to  me,  "see 
how  I  have  blacked  my  fingers  with  the  ink." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  rising  and  advancing  to  the  table, 
and  with  an  affectation  of  short  sight,  taking  her  hand 
in  mine  to  examine  it.  "  This  ink  of  yours  is  a  most 
sacrilegious  violator.  Would  you  permit  me,"  I  added, 
as  she  drew  her  hand  away,  "  to  finish  your  task  ?" 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  she  answered,  rising  and  vacating 
her  place  to  me,  "  you  will  oblige  me  much,  if  you 
will  undertake  that  kind  office  for  me." 

"  Rather  say  for  myself,"  I  said  ;  "  for  I  fear  I  am 
selfish  iu  seeking  the  pleasure  I  ask." 

She  made  me  no  reply,  but  smiled,  and  placed  her- 
self opposite,  with  a  list  of  names  to  dictate. 


203 

"What  is  this  ?"  said  I,  taking  up  the  last  she  had 
finished.  "  This  is  my  name.  Am  I  the  only  Mr. 
Montagu  of  your  acquaintance  ?" 

She  nodded  acquiescence. 

"  And  am  I  to  have  the  honour  of  attending  you  ?" 

"  If,"  she  answered,  "  no  better,  no  more  agreeable 
engagement.*' 

"  Heavens  !"  said  I,  U  what  better,  what  more 
agreeable  engagement  is  it  possible  I  could  have  ? 
what  other  engagement  could  induce  me  to  forego w 

11  Mr.  Montagu,"  said  the  widow,  "  I  will  read  the 
names." 

"  I  thank  you — but,  Madam,"  I  resumed,  "  you 
must  first  permit  me  to  thank  you  for  the  honour  you 
have  done  me,  or  you  will  make  me  believe  you 
think  so  meanlv  of  me  as  to  deem  me  insensible  to 
it." 

"  If  your  thanks  are  on  each  recurrence  of  the  oc- 
casion to  be  as  fervent,"  said  the  widow,  "  I  fear  the 
task  will  soon  be  irksome  to  you,  for  I  have  just  made 
up  my  mind,  if  you  will  promise  to  write  all  my  cards, 
and  be  a  little  more  sedate  in  your  gratitude,  to  put 
your  name  down  in  my  book  for  the  season." 

"Is  it  possible,  Madam  ?  then  will  I  be  sworn,  like 
the  Hebrew  copyist,  never  to  pen  aught  else  ;  and  will 
attend  you,  too  happy  as  your  bidden,  your  bounden 
scribe — nay,  but  there  is  no  room  lor  that  dubious 
smile — I  will  swear." 

"  Don't,  pray/''  she  replied  ;  "  remember,  if  you 
write  for  me  only,  how  many  damsels  will  die  for 
lack  of  the  elegant  food  of  your  billets-doux  !" 

11  Not  one,  I  assure  you,  Madam  ;  if  I  have  polluted 
paper  with  a  line  to  woman  since  my  arrival,  or  dared 
to  harbour  thought  of  mere  than  one,  and  she,  one  to 
whom  I  can  never  presume  to  aspire " 

"  Then  there  is  one,  Mr.  Montagu  ?  but  pray  re- 
member my  cards.  I  fear  you  will  make  a  very  ne- 
gligent amanuensis." 

"  There  is  indeed  one,  Madam,  if  I  dared  reveal 
her." 


204 

"  Well,  well,  Mr,  Montagu,"  she  said,  "  I  don't 
wish  to  confess  you.'* 

"  And  yet,  Madam,"  I  answered,  "  you  would  ab- 
solve me." 

"Mr.  Montagu,"  said  the  widow,  hastily,  "do, 
pray,  think  of  my  cards,  or  I  must  write  them ;  and 
only  see  how  that  nasty  ink  has  stained  my  fingers." 

"  It  only  serves  as  a  foil  to  the  snowy  lustre  of  the 
rest,"  I  said. 

"But  yet  you  would  not  like  if  if  the  hand  were 
yours " 

"If  it  were  mine — if  it  could  ever  be  mine,"  I  said, 
warming  as  I  spoke,  and  raising  it  to  my  lips. 

"  Have  done  then,  have  done,  Mr.  Montagu  ;  see 
now  how  you  have  kept  your  promise,  not  one  card 
written — oh,  fie  !  and  now  we  really  must  leave  it  till 
to-morrow,  for  I  must  go  out." 

"  I  hope  not,"  I  said.  "  I  will  complete  them  in- 
stantly." 

"  But,  indeed,  I  must  go  out." 

"To-morrow  then,  perhaps,  you  will  permit  me  to 
show  my  industry?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  if  you  will  promise,  very  faith- 
fully, really  to  write." 

"  As  closefy  as  a  pundit,  on  ray  honour ;"  and  once 
more  pressing  her  hand,  and  having  fully  received  par- 
don for  my  sins,  I  withdrew. 

The  next  day  and  the  next,  our  seats  were  resumed. 
I  pen  in  hand,  Madame  with  her  pocket-book  ;  but 
still  the  cards  remained  stationary.  Not  so  with  other 
matters  :  I  progressed  in  love  and  boldness,  until  I  won 
from  the  widow's  lips  a  confession  of  regard,  and  the 
sweetest  assuiance  of  it  that  lips  can  give.  Never  did 
love  sit  so  lightly  or  so  happily  on  me,  though  my 
passion  for  Matilde,  for  that  she  told  me  was  her  name, 
was  ardent;  and  she  was  beautiful,  fascinating,  and 
every  way  engaging;  but  she  was  not  to  be  treated  with 
continual  scenes,  and  her  own  demonstrations  of  love 
were  of  that  nature  which  satisfied  without  ever  excit- 


205 

ing  the  heart.  We  felt  rather  than  told  each  other's 
hopes,  and  thoughts,  and  wishes,  and  I  enjoyed  se- 
renely what  I  had  before  and  have  often  since  squan- 
dered in  unnecessary  or  unavailing  suffering.  Her  ac- 
tions spoke  more  than  her  words,  and  I  was  too  proud 
of  her  to  doubt  her  for  her  silence — her,  and  her  only 
have  I  loved  rationally — I  loved  her  as  a  woman  ; 
others  I  have  adored  as  angels,  till  adoration  became 
torture  ;  and  I  have  phrenzied  myself  in  seeking  and 
worshipping  their  attributes. 

About  four  months  I  led  in  this  way  a  very  happy 
life,  when  it  was  agreed  we  should  be  married  :  a 
contrdt  de  manage  was  necessary,  and  I  was  to  wait 
upon  a  notary  to  instruct  him  to  prepare  it.  To 
enable  me  to  do  so,  Matilde  explained  to  me  the 
nature  and  amount  of  her  property,  which  was  am- 
ple. 

"  And  now,  Augustus,"  said  she,  "  I  must  own,I 
have  deceived  you  in  one  point." 

"  Indeed !"  said  I.  "  I  am  sure  it  is  in  a  very  venial 
one." 

44 It  is  so,  indeed;  but  it  is  necessary  I  should 
now  explain  it  to  you — my  name  is  not  Matilde  Pe- 
rollet." 

"Indeed!"  said  I,  at  the  same  time  thinking  to  my- 
self how  easy  a  way  this  confession  would  make  for 
my  own  on  the  same  subject. 

"  That  name  I  assumed  to  escape  the  importuni- 
ties of  relations  in  England.  Listen,  and  you  shall 
soon  be  made  acquainted  with  the  brief  story  of  my 
life.  My  maiden  name,  vou  must  know,  was  Simp- 
son." 

"  Indeed  !"  I  said,  "  we  have  that  name  already  in 
our  family." 

u  On  my  first  marriage  with  Mr.  Wilson " 

"Who?"  I  cried. 

"  Wilson  !"  she  answered. 

My  hair  stood  on  end — "  Were  you  married  a 
second  time  ?" 

18 


206 

"I  was.'' 
"To  whom?" 
"  To  Mr.  Winckworth." 

"  Winckworth  !"  I  exclaimed,  "  Simpson,  Wilson, 
Winckworth  !   Heavens  !  you  are  my  grandmother!" 


i—  f   w   ■    »~w^ 


~*r 


CATALOGUE 

OF    A 

VAIUABS.1!    AND    USEFUL 
COLLECTION 

OF 

BOOKS, 

m  THE 

VARIOUS    DEPARTMENTS    OF    SCIENCE, 
[many  of  which  have  been  recently  imported,] 

FOR    SALE    BY 

E.   L.    CAREY   &   A.   HART, 

CORNER    OF 

CHESNUT  AND  FOURTH  STREETS, 
PHILADELPHIA. 


CELEBRATED    TRIALS, 


REMARKABLE    CASES    OF   CRIMINAL 
JURISPRUDENCE; 

FROM   THE 

EARLIEST  RECORDS  TO  THE   PRESENT  TIME. 

EDITED   BY 

A   MEMBER   OF    THE    PHILADELPHIA   BAR. 

IN*    ONE    LARGE    8V0.    VOLUME. 


Till  the  publication  of  the  present  volume,  the  English  language  was 
possessed  of  no  popular  collection  of  celebrated  trials  and  remarkable 
cases  of  criminal  jurisprudence. 

The  Newgate  Calenders,  as  chroniclers  of  roguery  and  vulgar  depravity 
in  their  various  forms,  have  usually  been  compiled  in  language  which 
sympathize  and  accord  with  their  subjects. 

The  State  Trials,  in  seeking  to  exhaust  all  the  legal  and  technical  de- 
tails, degenerate  into  intolerable  dullness,  and  are  useful  only  as  a  body 
of  information,  to  be  consulted  by  professional  men  in  regard  to  analo- 
gous cases  which  present  themselves  in  practice  ;  though,  in  this  respect, 
they  are  so  valuable,  that  no  law  library  ought  to  be  without  them. 

At  the  same  time,  in  forming  a  selection  of  interesting  and  important 
trials  from  the  range  of  the  juridical  proceedings  of  various  nations,  the 
editor  has  adopted  no  existing  model.  The  only  one  similar  in  its  general 
object  is  the  voluminous  series,  in  the  French  language,  entitled  Causes 
Celebres.  The  best  cases  in  that  celebrated  work  have  been  transferred 
to  this  volume. 

The  editor  is  aware  that  the  interest  of  a  trial  often  turns  on  small 
points,  and  is  increased  by  the  reader  being,  as  it  were,  carried  into  court. 
This  important  principle  he  has  never  lost  sight  of;  and  in  proof,  he  may 
refer  to  the  verbal  examinations  which  he  has  retained,  whenever  they  are 
connected  with  the  jet  of  the  case,  or  with  historical  personages,  and 
curious  traits  of  manners.  If  the  general  reader  has  reason  to  find  any 
fault  with  the  work,  it  will  rather  be  with  the  minutiae  of  detail,  than 
with  any  deficiency. 

2 


IMPORTED    BOOKS. 


WORKS    OX    FIXE    ARTS. 


CT„>S'vB^apbicalinu,«ra,ions.4to. 

"'vS^  of4B°a.l.  and  Bri«tol,  from  designs 
6lSS£STMSr,,  a  poem  by  Roger.. 

r>r„rH^n^o'i:eVeSeo:l,m,eo. 

"°EE&.,  witb  U  engravings  from  designs 
^motn.^'^e'.lne.v  executed  pla.es 

tions  of  his  Dramatic  Work^by  »*£ 
Teinnest,  8  engravings.  PriCv.  M  ci. .. 
Macbeth.  8  engravings.     Puce    5  eta. 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  12  engraving-     Price 

*  views  of  Kent,  containing  opwartstf 
10(1  views   splendidly  bound  in   arabesque 

mvTew°s'of  England  .nd  Wales  from  draw- 
„.-  1,*-  J  M  W.  Turner,  in  4to.  1-  Noe. 
SSb  So  eJbUdn,  four  splendidly  executed 

''.Sneria^st'S  Tbeatre.  in  32  *>.« 

"HardysTour  in  the  Pyrenees,  24  coloured 

PlaHearne  and  Byrne's  Antiquities  of  Great 
Britain,  84  folio  plates. 


History  and  Antiquities  of  Westminster 
fkbbey-  3  vote.  4to.  K.4  m^^q.. 

Hi-iorv  of  the  r.,iversitv  and  Lityof  Ox- 
ford.  -2  vols  4to.  84  coloured  plates 

Picturesque  Tour  along  the  Rhine,  irom 
Menus  to  Coblentz,  24  coloured  plates. 
^Picturesque  T„ur  from  Pans  to  the  Sea, 
witb  numerous  coloured  plates. 

Picturesque  Tour  of  the  English  Lakes, 

%TXetueeToa,  of  the   River  Ganges 
and  Jumna    4to.  24  coloured  plates. 

Pici"  re-l  .e   Tour   from  Geneva  to    Mi- 
lan! by  way   of  the  Simplon,  36  coloured 

^pTctoreaiue   Tour  through  the  Oberland 

other  ornamental  bu.ldings,  by  J.  B.  Pap 
VVll!ntf  o^'ori^neS  Gardening,  con- 
JJST  of  28  coloured  designs  for  garden 
bu.klings  useful  and  decorative,  by  J.  B. 
**$££*  Cottages  and  Farm  Houses,  52 

C"B„»"J,"va'l."%n.ainin1!  35  view,  of  tbe 
„,S'S!,er\s,i;,|1e,,er,-..„.per,arOndi 

toely  r"'"i:'c'i1,5'ap,o;trai.  Illustrations  of 

^|!SS8iSof8i'*«>-  Scoks  Poetical 
v-  rtV  M  spleodid  plates. 

ings  3 


Caricature  Scrap  Book,  large  folio  n]afe« 

edJKS18  of  the  "*■"■■■■*!  foiioSl™;. 

Pe!aCinrr?reaVHie".S,Pf  the  ^"tiquities  of 
plates  a'  by  Allanson>  folio  coloured 

folIVSChtbei0natAthenS'byImVOOd 
byDSeoTeS°fo]foUb,iC  3nd  PfiV3te  Buildi^> 

Chor?sa^ii0Ct0reSq,ie  Aut0ur  du  Mond*  P^ 
by^STo" 6nd0Wed  Gr—  ^^^ 

-iie  Hew  Law  Court   at  Westminster, 


r,      f  7.'-and    Military    .Achievements   of 
Hantnn-tar  •  3  V°1S  4t0-  coloure    p  ates 
H inton  s  Lmtea  States.  2  vols.  4to  plates 
fe:^lews!"^in.  4to.  plate-     e* 

plaS        Vie"s  of  Gentlemen's  Seats.  4to. 

KScane0m2^P,endid  P,ates  Martin. 
landscape  Illustrations  of  Lord  Bvroms 

o  splendid  plates,  at  75  cts.  per  number 

F^StES^  Ga'!er-V   "f  S-!S«i 
Vm    \-    (-  he  Nineteenth  CentUry,  4  vols 
Child's  A  lews  of  Philadelphia. 


works  With  humorous  designs. 


illlsfrS^lT*?  in  B,ack'  wi,h  numeroi, 
SSk  y       °rge  0ruikshank.    Price 


Pw5«2?    DeVi^   Wa,k'    8   -pavings. 

^oinbastcs  Furioso,  7  engravings.     Price 

^Tom    Thumb,   6    engravings.      Price  50 

Marriage,   a    Humorous    Poem     with    <s 
engravmgs,   by  R.   Cruikshank"1' pTic?  5^ 

R.^£h;sn^ie?^en^vin^by 

^Sl^^^^"^  «- Baker,  6 

Prk^etl'  3  C0I1"C  SketCh'  ?  ***«**■ 
P^es.^^l^e,I^a  Comic  Poem,  8 

wSsDOule*  wtJT«  StagP?-   °r  Andrew  *nd 

38^S      6  "  S  V,8it>  8  e;'?™vr;gs.      Pr.ce 

The  Children  in  the  Wood,  with  8  fifcelv 

Three  Courses  and   a  Desert,   the  deco- 


rations by  George  Cruikshank,  svo.     Prj 


Life  in  London,  or  the  Day   a 
Scenes   of  Jerry    Hawthorn    Esq    and   w! 
elegant  friend  Corinthian    tw  ''   anJ   hui 

^byBobLogic;n;hVo^ianars 

Ran iblee  and  Sprees  through  the  Metro£ 
hs,  by  P.erce  Egan,  embeUished  with  TC 
scenes  from  real  life,  by  George  CniiSbank 
coloured.     Price  §8.  ^«uiKt.jianfc, 

The   Life  of  an  Actor,  by  Pierce  Ffran 

coS^dby^SLane'andb--iful,y 

ou^B^oQrSX^XoCaPtain'^b 

Takings  :  or  the  Life  of  a  Collegian,  with 

20  coloured   plates.  '        'Ulm 

The   Grand    Master:    or    Adventures  of 

8x?  ,n  Hindostan> with  26  SM 

The  English  Spy;  an  Original  Work 
Characteristic,    Satirical,    and    Humorous' 

*£!?*?%  S'enes  and  Etcher  ofS 
Rank  of  Society;  being  Portraits  <rff2 
Illustrious.  Eminent,  Eccentric  and  No 
tonous,  drawn   from   the   life,   by  Bernard 

Blackmantle.  with  ?l  coloured  plate?,  ! 
Robert   Cruikshank,    2   vols.   8   vo       Price 

Tarn  OShanter  and  Sonter  Johnny  a 
Poem  by  Robert  Burns,  illustrated7' by 
Phomas  Landseer,  7  engravings.     Price  50 


ENGLISH  EDITIONS—MISCELLANEOUS. 


m^VJ™****  °f  Mn*  for  Gentle 
Allen's  Principles  of  Riding  for  Ladie*  Pvo 
Allen's  Demosthenes.   1  vol  ?Vo 
Anecdotes  of  Nari0|eon.  3  vo,     j? 
Ainsworths  Dictionary,  royal  8vo 


^Ayscough's   Index  to  Shakspeare.   1  vol. 

Arabian  Nights.  1  vol.  8vo.  plates 
Arabian  Nights.  3  vols,  p-n.o.  plaie* 

f^njts  Works  or  the  Brit-h 


^r  4     m  •  * 


nii.i 


Antoniarchi's  Last  Moments  of  Napoleon. 
2  vols.  Svo.  *_      , 

Antoniarchi's  Last  Moments  of  IS  apoleon, 
in  French.  -2  vols.  Wft  ,       , 

Arisl  >tle'a  Ethics  and  Politics,  translated 
DV  Gillies,  2  vols.  Svo.  -    i  . 

Albany's  Englishman's  Guide  to  Calais. 
1  vol.  lruio.  '    _ 

ger  of  the  Nineteenth  Century.  1 

P!a*-5-  ^      ,     - 

Anacharsis'  Travels.  2  vols.  evo. 

las,  Tragedies    of.,  translated    by 
Potter 

-ays.  2  vols.  18mo.  fine  edi- 
tion. .    . 

granny,  a  collection  of  the  most 
instructing   and'  amusing   Lives  ever  pub- 
lished, 13mo.  cloth  Ms.  per  vol.  §1- 
Vol.  1.  Colley  Cibber. 

f,  Voltaire. 
Marmontel. 
•riry. 
6.  G.  Whitfield.  J.  Ferguson. 

[ary    Robinson    and    Charlotte 
Cha 
8.  Lord    Herbert    of   Cherbury,    and 

Prince  Eugene  of  Savoy. 
9  a  3tus  Von  Kotzebue. 

11.  i  a.  William  Gilford.. 

I  wood. 

12.  Lewis  U 

13.  J  Vanx. 

14  and  15.  Edward  Gibbon. 

r.venuto  Cellini. 
It.  James  Lackington,    with  his  con- 

- 
19.  Theobald  Wolf  Tone. 

Bubo  Doddington. 
21  and  22,  Marz.  of  Bareith. 

2-j  I 

..•:- duBarn. 
Attic  Greek   Orators.— Antiphon.   Ando- 
I-  crates.  Tsteus,  Dmarchus. 
Lvcurg  :  -       Demosthenes,     and 

jvith   the    Gi 
.      _  3,    Autisthenes. 

jias:   with  the   Latin 
W.  B:  Dobson, 
A  M.  1 

;'  Queen  Eli:: 

Aiken's   Memoirs  of  James  the  First.  2 
vols.  8i 
Aiken's  Memoirs  of  Charles  the  First.  2 

Art  of  Prolonging  Life;  by  Dr.  Kitchener. 
12m  o. 

Art  of  Dre;s.  1-rno. 

Art  of  Shoeing  Horses  without  F 

Aldi  the  British  Poets. 

Ariosto's  Orlando  Furioso,  by  Hoole.  6 
vols.  - 

Andrew's  History  of  the  War  with  Ame- 
rica. France,  and  Spain.  4  vols.  Svo. 

Annals  of  the  House  of  Hanover,  by  Hal- 
lidav.  2  vol-    - 

Allen  Breck,  by  the  Author  of  •'■'Subal- 
tern.'' 3  vols.  12mo. 

Affianced  One.  The.  a  novel.,  in  3  vols. 

Anquetii's  Universal  History.  9  vols.  Svo. 

Atala,  Death  of  Abel.  <Scc.  ISmo 


Auber's  China,  an  outline  of  its  Go- 
vernment, Laws,  and  Policy,  evo. 

Butlers  Hudibras.  with  Gray's  Annota- 
tions. 3  vols.  Svo.  . 
British  Essayists,  complete  in  5  v 
British  Essayists,  complete  in  M  ■      - 
Bacon's  Essays.  1  vol.  I8i 
Bacon's  Works.  10  vols.  cvo. 
Beauues  of  Shakspeare,  by  Dr.  Dodd.    I 

'8  Natural   History. 

Botanic  Garden,  bv  Dr.  Darwin.  1 
formerly  in  p n 

Barettis  Italian  aud  English  Dictionary 
v 
-  Esop.  evo. 
£en  icks  Quadrupeds.  " 
Bewick's  I  i 

Burke's  Speeches.  4  vols   Bvo. 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  by  Y\  ener.  14  vols. 

C  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  3  vols,  royal  Bvo. 

Bacchus  in  Tuscany,  by  Leigh  Hunt  1 
vol.  ISmo. 

Burlesque  Translation  cf  Homer.  2  vols. 

Burnetts  History  of  his  own  Times.  4  vols. 

Burnett's    History   of   the    Retormation 
G  vols.  lcmo. 
Burton's  Anatomv  of  Melancholy.  2  vols. 

Eritish    Novelists,    in    24mo.    with    vig- 

a.  by  Miss  Burney.  2  vols.  bds. 
The  Old  Manor  H  bds. 

Zel  icco.  bv  Dr.  Moore.  2  vols.  Ms. 

J.  bds. 
i.  and  Julia  de  Rou- 
bigne,  bv  Mackenzie.  1  rol 
The    '  -  >"  Mrs. 

Ton:  ielding.  3  vols.  bds. 

:  iinz.  bds. 
Cecilia,  bv  '  Is   bds. 

Mj  -  -  bds; 

Lady  Julia  Mandeville,  by  Mrs.  Brooke, 

ani  I  Art,  in  1  vol.  bds. 

Edward,  bv  Dr.  Moore.  2  vols.  Ms. 
Bode  rick   Random,  by  Dr.  Smollett.  2 
3.  Ms. 
Byron's  Works  and  Life,  by  Moore.   17 

.-Jmo.  fine  plat 
Byron's  Works  and  Life,  in  1  vol.  8vo. 
Paris  edition. 
Brodie's  History  of  the  British  Empire.  4 

-  TO. 

-     -  -vo. 

Bentham's  Introduction  to  the  Principles 
of  Morals  and  Legislation.  2  vols.  Svo. 
Benthams  Popular  Fallacies.  1vol.  8vo. 
Bentham's  Traite  de  Legislation.  3  vols. 

Bentham's  Fragments  on  Government.  1 
vol.  Svo. 

Bentham  on  Codification.  1  vol.  Svo. 

Bentham's  Church  of  England  Catechism 
Examined,   l-iux 

Beautaant's  Naval  Gunnery.  1  vol.  lSmc. 


-       :■;:..  ■::<■ 


:-li 


] 

■  « 

-      . 


' 


~':ri mm   Iv.vi. 
man 

•    I  -'in:. 

- 

T."  .1.1.    •   uniL 

?  :tiv_i.-i;n   l.i.-.  ii:i"i;u.    .  ■>        ":"  ; 

i  iPurlianif a 

- 

!;  -ji'    ;>•'  Ei  nun  •     ]  vnl  ?vi 

:»"•'      -  n.  i,i.    ."  i  ••;;'ii-ii(ivn*:t     f    vols    :•'  : 
i    :>'■-  i  1  [wmi     i  i  r»te    :  Umi 
v  ii'!-  *   7    ."li:!      ;    -"■.!(.     I  rime 

. 

".".:m     i- 

I  '        _,    - 

.  -T.1.IH  •  ?  :  •  . 

V 

■ 

.   i 

I 
:  ■ 

- 
i 
:i:ijm  ■      l<  .in"-:  i!    !•.■•      i'  -'      lbn\i 

■ 


I 
. 
:    \i.x:-:-  ■•:    i  rum*  1  mi 


"•in 


la    ;>.ii"'    7  i  cm     l    !•'  '  '  •    •' 


;    :«•...;.■   I.r-r.i"       ■  '    —.■:..  ;  m 


'!.  ,:  "i     i  ,n-  "■•I.  v   .i  •  inn  »:i::-i > 

( 

■  ■  i 

'  1-i.tiu    i:   :  ■.<'     "■     '.   '  I'tti    I  '  i 


Concert  Roota.  or  Anecdotes  of  Music  and 
Musicians    3  vols,  stnaii  - 

Condors  Italy.   3  vols.  12roo. 

:~al  Wort?.  2  vols.  8to. 

Cumberland's  British  Theatre.    20  vols, 
half  fad. 

Caillie's  Travels  through  Africa  to  Tim- 
Bnctoo.  2  vol- 

Calmet's  Dictionary  of  the  Bible     1  vol. 

Cartwright,  Major,  Life  and  Correspon- 
Cateeterfieid  s  Letters  to  his  Son.  3  vols. 

Coleridge's  Dramatic  and  Poetical  Works. 
-   . 

Cromwell,  O.,  Memoirs  of,  and  Family.  2 
Tola.  - 

E.Tmology  and  Svutax. 
----- 

Cicero's  Tnsculan  Disputation? 

Cobbett's  Annual  Register.  2t  l 

Clegborn's  System  ofAgrieulture.  4to. 

Companion  u>  the  Newspaper,  royal  evo. 

Cleone.  a  novel,  in  3  vols. 
-   :  racy.  The. 

Chartley.  the  Fatalist,  by  the  author  of 
1  Li  visible  Gentleman." 

Connolly's  Overland  Journey  to  India.  2 
v : :  -    -  • 

C    -.-•■-■ ;--.•  -.;-..-.  7:.\-.-::^.  ?!..:-::;. . 
2  vols.  I2mo. 

Cory's  Metaphysical  Enquiry,  ISmo. 

Cumberland's    Dramatic   Tales.    2  vols. 

i  ■:-.-.- 

Cud  worth's  Intellectual  System.  4to1s_5vo. 
Debrett's  Peerage  of  Great  Britain.  2  vols. 

Dryden's  Poetical  Works.  4  vota 

Lt-;-  :-  .  5  PM  a     i  BoccncJM  a:.:  Ofca  iccf 

Dry:  .--no. 

Decameron  of  Boccaeio  4  vols.  ISmor 

!•    r.    i  .."-    '  •     :-.%-:.-.    :".:    4   •      -    ....... 

Don  Quixote,  by  Jarvis.  4  vols.  l§mo. 

Court  of  France.  2  vols.  Svo. 
vh  of  Abel.  Lsno. 

- 
.-    - 

•  ax  s  Three  Tours,  coloured  plates. 
3r     : 
Dobladoe's  letters  from  Spain 

-.--_     •:  -.--;.  --.- 

:  ;   .   .    .    . 

2  vols.  Svo. 

I  .-  -    :.  -      •;■    ■:'  :..-   v..-    "  .,     :■  '      - 
:  ■  • 

1' -  -    ■     :       :       .    v  Ex :•--.:    :     '.'-'.    '•: 
L^  . .  .    •  ■     .  -   1  ;.:•-..•.. .    -. 

, 

Dubunfraat  and  Jonas'  Complete  Distil- 

:  ■ 

E   ;  •    *•'  .  .     :'  r  •  .    ■-.     -  - 

.rsements:  12mo. 

ary. 


Drnmmond's  Letters  to  a  Your  \ 


Dodsley's  Old  Plays.   12  vols.  8vo. 
Don. 
Douf ; . 

Dibdjn's  Literary  Companion.  1  vol.  Svo. 
: 
.Ion, with  p. 
Drake 
Drake  -  m.  small  svo. 

•    - 

-  -    ' 
Dilemmas  of  Pride.  3  voir 

DR.-  12ml 

12nv>. 
Dacdolo  on  r-  >rms.  12mo. 

Davenport's,    Dictionary    of    Biography, 
-aits. 

i     :..--' -.    ' .'  L. .-■;*: .:  '.:'  A  :..:-.■ 

:■■     -    :•.... 

Diary  of  an  Invalid.  12mo. 

.  and  Mant's  Bible.  3  vols    I 
:..:-  :     .  -;.-:..  :.  :.y  b-,.,- j 
...        •   — 
Gerusaleme  Liberata.  2  pocket  vols. 
Divina  Comedia  di  Dante.  2  pocket  roll. 
:ius.  1  P&ck-i' 

de  Officiis  Cato.  fee.  1  pocket  vol. 
Catullus.   Tibullus,  and  Propertius.    1 

pocket  vol. 
.:"         •  -  -  -      -       -     - 

I:  ....-;  .-'.•...  ---..      -;:■:-:.  -.is. 

Bnfieli  -  -istant-  12mo. 

Fleg ant  Extract! 

- 
Economy  of  Human  Life.    . 

■       - 

-     .  •- 

:. .  -  -      •    --.-.-.    .;-•..-    :~  --.;  = 

■- 

-  ::-v 
F>iinbirs  Annual  Register,  edited  by  Sir 

Walter  Scott.  13  vol.-    - 
Edin  burg  Gazetteer.  Svo. 
Egan's  Anecdotes   of  the  Chase,  Turf, 

Life  in  London,  coloured  plates. 
Bra. 

I'.:.-.  -   L  :'■;  •:".:.  A::::    : ". .    .:■;:   :.i:~ 
-■ 
English    Spy.    with   numerous   coloured 

- 

.  iustrative   of 

: 

.-•  -     i-         •      -    .       :'.    . 


E.:  .:.  ;  E.r-    -     ;:'    ..     7  :::.■-.-.  E:..;e:::s 
2mo. 
Ebon's  Specimens  of  the  Classic  Poets.  3 

- 
Elton's  Hesiod.  Svo. 

E  .-.:-.  .-,■.-.     7    --    -   ;      :--. 
E  ..-.:.  -^-      •---;■-      :-.---      -T- 

•■a'!.!  Sw». 

e-      -..•    ■'  •  -  7-     .  -"i     -  --•    ;--.--. 

Economy  of  the  Hair*.  F^et.  tc  12mo. 
:n  Rath.  21  plates.  12m  o. 

E    :•  ■-     -    .     .     •'  .-  ;.  .".  ._■   -  .  -  S-:  .     :.-r. 


Eustace    Conway,    a   novel,   in    3   vols. 
J2mo. 
Evenings  at  Home.  ISmo. 

Ferguson's  Rome,  complete  in  1  vol.  8vo. 

Fielding's  Complete  Works.  12  vols. 

Fox's  Speeches.  6  vols.  Svo. 

Forster's  Perrenial  Calender.  8vo. 

Fain's,  Baron,  History  of  the  Events 
Whichledtothe  Abdication  of  Napoleon.  8vo. 

Francis'  Horace.  2  vols.  ls-mo. 

Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs.  ISmo. 

Falconer's  Shipwreck,  l^mo. 

Franklin's  Two  Expeditions  to  the  Polar 
Sea.  4  vols.  18mo. 

Foreign  Tales  and  Traditions.  2  vols. 
12m  o. 

Facciolatis  and  Forceliini's  Latin  Lexi- 
con. 2  vols.  4to. 

Forbes'  Life  of  Beattie.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Flavel's  Works.  6  vote.  8vo; 

Fleming's  ZooTogy.  2 vols.  evo. 

Fintham  on  Masting  Ships.  Svo. 

Facetiae,  with  plates,  by  Cruikshank.  2 
vols.  18mo. 

Fairy  Tales,  or  tbe  Court  of  Oberon.  18mo. 

Field  Book.'  The,  or  Sports  and  Pastimes 
of  the  United  Kingdom,  numerous  plates. 
8vo. 

Ford's  Dramatic  Works.  byGiflbrd.  2vcls. 
8vo. 

Fielding's  Proverbs  of  all  Nations. 

Fletchers  History  of  Poland.  8vo. 

Fletcher's  Theological  Works.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Fletcher's,  Pvev.  John,  Works.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Fanny  Fitz  York.  3  vols.  12mo. 

Frolics  of  Puck.  3  vols.  12mo. 

Froissart's  Chronicles.  4  vols.  8vo. 

Goldsmith's  History  of  England.  6  vols. 
8vo. 

Goldsmith's  History  of  Greece.  8vo. 

Goldsmith's  History  of  Greece.  2-lmo. 

Goldsmiths  History  ofR<  me.  Bvo. 

Goldsmith's  History  of  Rome.  24mo. 

Goldsmith's  Animated  Nature.  4  vols.  8vo. 

Goldsmiths  Essays.  'J  vols.  18mo. 

Goldsmith's  Poems.  ISmo. 

Gibbon's  Rome,  complete  in  1  vol.  Bvo. 

Gibbon's  Rome,  complete  in  4  vols.  8vo. 

Gibbon's  Miscellaneous  WoTks.  5  vols.  8vo. 

Granger's  Biographical  History  of  Eng- 
land. 6 

Grammont's  Memoirs,  by  Count  Hamilton. 
2  vols.  8vo. 

Gradus  ad  Parnassum.  8vo. 

Gil  Bl  l8mo. 

Grose's  Classical  Dictionary  ftfthe  \  ulgar 

|  with  additions*? Pierce  Egan.8vo. 

i's  History  of  the  Commonwealth. 

4  vols.  8vo.  „    .  .   . 

Galagnani's  Guide  through  Switzerland. 
l8mo. 

Galagnani's  Guide  to  Paris.  ISmo. 

GaJagnani'sGuide  through  Holland.  18mo 

i  Guide  down  tbe  Rhine.  18mo- 

Gifibrd's  Penrius.  - 

Ganilh's  Political  Economy.  8vo. 

with  Instructions  of  Breeding 
ami  Tra 

Green's  Dramatic  Works,  by  Alexander 
Dyce.  2  vols.  12mo. 


Gorton's  General  Biographical  Dictionary. 
2  vols.  8vo. 

Gardens  and  Menagerie  of  the  Zoological 
Society,  with  numerous  beautifully  executed 
plates."  2  vols.  8vo. 

German  Romances,  translated  by  Roscoe. 
4vols.  J2mo. 

Graham's  History  of  the  Rise  and  Pro- 
gress of  the  United  States.  2  vol.  8vo. 

Grattan's  Miscellaneous  Works.  8vo. 

Gunter's  Confectioner's  Oracle. 

Gillie's  German  Stories.  3  vols.  12mo. 

German  Lyric  Poets.  12mo. 

Gold  Headed  Cane.  12mo. 

Guthrie's  Cicero.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Hough  on  Courts  ?»lartial.  8vo. 

Hazletfs  Select  Poets  of  Great  Britain 
8vo. 

Hutton's  Wonders  of  Nature  and  Art. 
12mo. 

Homer's  Odyssey.  2  vols.  18mo. 

Homer's  Iliad. 

Herveys,  Rev.  James,  Works.  6  vols.  12mo 

Humphry  Clinker.  18mo. 

Hampton'-  Polybius.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Uooke's  History  of  Rome.  3  vols.  8vo. 

Hederico'8 Greek  Lexicon.  8vo. 

Hume  and  Smollett's  England.  17  vols. 
18mo. 

Hume,  Smollett,  and  Miller's  England.   3 

VOls.  cvo. 

Home  on  the  Psalms.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Henderson's  History  of  Ancient  and  Mo- 
dern Wines.  4to. 

Huber  on  Bees.  12mo. 

History  of  Charles  XII.  and  Peter  the 
Great.  ISmo. 

Hawker's  Instructions  to  Young  Sports- 
men. 8vo. 

Hayward  on  Horticulture.  8vo. 

Howitt's  Book  of  the  Seasons.   12mo. 

Hooker's  British  Flora.  8vo. 

.Hone's  Every  Day  Book  and  Table  Book. 
4  vols.  Bvo. 

Huskisson's  Speeches.  3  vols.  Svo. 

Hume's  Philosophical  Works.  4  vols.  Svo. 

Hume's  Essays  -2  vote.  Bvo. 

Harris'  Life  of  James  I..  Charles  I.,  Crom- 
well, and  Charles  II.  5  vols.  Svo. 

Hartshrrrne's  Ancient  Metrical  Tales.  Svo. 

Hermit  in  Edinburg.  3  vols.  l-2mo. 

Hintoifs  History  of  Topography  of  the 
United  States,  illustrated  with  100  plates 
and  map-.  2  vpjs.  4to. 

Hints  on  Ornamental  Gardening,  by 
Pap  worth,  large  Bvo.  28  i  oloured  plates. 

Hints  on  Rural  Residences,  by Tapworth. 
Bvo.  27  coloured  plates. 

Hood's  Whims  and  Oddities,  1st  and  2d 
series.  1  vol. 

Household  Book  of  Henry  VIII.  Svo. 

Howard's  Beauties  of  Literature.  12  vols 
I8mo. 

Herrirks  Poetical  Works.  2  vols.  8vo. 

History  of  Johnny  Qua;  Genus,  coloured 
plates    8vo. 

Hoare's  Classical  Tour  through  Italy.  9 
„ 

Humboldt's  Essay  on  Rocks,  svo. 

Housekeeper's  Magazine  and  Family  Eco- 
nomist, gvo. 


t*ir  a m  m  m 


Hazlitt's  Life  of  Napoleon.  4  vols.  Svo. 

Hurwitz's  Hebrew  Elements,  evo. 

Hardins  oa  the  Use  of  the  Lead  Pencil. 
4to. 

Howard's  Biosraphical  Illustrations,  with 
HO  P  rt raits.  4 to. 

Hogarth,  Works  of,  Moralized  by  Truseer. 
4to. 

Hibberfs.  Samuel.  History  of  Extinct 
Volcanoes  of  the  Basin  of  Neuwied  on  the 
Lower  Rhine    - 

Hyde  Nugent,  a  novel,  in  ?,  vols. 
■son's  Political  Economy.  12mo. 

History  of  Kin?  Arthur.  2  vols.  24mo. 

Henrv's  Miscellaneous  Works.  4to. 

Homtr  Burlesqued     . 

Hoste's,  Captain,  Naval  Tactics.  4to. 
plates. 

Hough  on  Courts  Martial.  Svo. 
Cbtton    Manufactu: 
platen. 

Helvetius".  C  A..  Essays  on  the  Mind, 
translated.  Svo. 

Helvetius".  C.  A..  Essav  on  Man.  -2  v  :;. 
Svo. 

Inchbald's  British  Theatre.  35 vols,  12ino. 

Inchbalds  Farces.  7  vols.  ISmo. 

.  Tales,  with  plates  by  Cruikshank. 
12  m  o. 

Johnson's.  Dr  .  Works.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Po<:ts.  3v 

Johnson's  Lives  of  the  Poets    i 
"    Johnson  and  Walker's  Pocket  Dictionary. 

Jocson's.  Ben,  Works,  Ky  Gifford.  9  vols. 
-. 

Jones'  Greek  and  English  Lexicon. 

Junius'  Letters.  IE 

Joseph  Andrews.   ISmo. 

Jac:  •  Metals.  2  vol?.  -=vo. 

Johnson's  Shooter's  Companion.  12mo. 

Johnson's  Sportsma.  -  a.  1  large 

.'s  Elements  of  Science  and  Art. 
■ 
Jones"  Classical  Library: — 

ar,  translated  by  Duncan.  Svo. 
Demosthenes,  translated  by  Leland.  8ro. 
Herodotus,  translated  by  Belo-    - 
Livy.  translated  by  Baker.  2  vols.  Svo. 
Tacitus,  translated  bv  Murphv.    2  vols. 

Svo. 
Thucvdides.  translated  bv  Smith.  2  vols. 

Svo". 
Xenophon.  translated  by  Spelman.  and 
others.  2  vols 
Jones'  University  Edition  : — 
Boswell's  Johnson     - 
Russell's  Modern  Europe.  3  vols 
Rollin's  Ancient  History.  3  vols.  8vo. 
Spectator.  1  vol. 
Gibbon's  Rome.  4  vols. 
British  Essayists.  5  vols.  Svo. 
Fersuson's  Rome.  Svo. 
Gillies  Greece.  Svo. 
Johnson's  Works.  2  vols.  >vo. 
Hume.  Smollett,  and  Miller's  England. 

3  vols. 
Plutarch.  Svo. 
British  Drama.  2  vols. 
Illustrations  of  the  Passions.  2  vols.  Svo. 
Jew.  The.  a  novel,  in  3  vols.  Svo. 


Joe  Miller's  Complete  Jest  Book.  ISmo.    ] 
Koran,  Sale's.  2  vols   Bvo. 
Kelly's  Cambist.  2  vols  4to. 
Kl«  ;  -  -        eiab.  ISmo. 

Knox's.  Dr.  V..  Complete  Works.    7  vols. 
Svo. 
Knox's,  Dr.  V..  Essays    2  vols.  J2mo. 

Lansho'rne's  Piuta-rch.  Bi 

s  Works.    10  vols 
Locke  on  the  Understanding.  12mo. 
Leland's  Demosthti 
Lela      b  -  3.  1  vol.  12mo. 

Lewis1    Elements    of    Game    of    Chess. 
12:no. 
Lawrence's  Farmer's  Calendar.  Svo. 
Lawrence's  Treatise  on  Cattle    - 
Leigh's  Picture  of  London,   with  platen 

Leigh's  Road  Book  of  England,  Scotland, 
and  Ireland.  3 

of  England,    Wales,    and 
Scotland. 

urnal,    French. )  4  vols.  Svo. 
;:    ;ycIopedia  of  Plants    1\._!. 
- 

's  Vijla  Arc: 
n's  Agricultui 
-  ■ 
Lardner's   Cabinet   Cvclroedia.     CO  vols. 
12m  -i. 

Landseer's  Illustraticns  of  the  D.vii's 
Walk.  folio. 

iindley's  Guide  to  the  Oi chard  and  Kitch- 
en Garden.  Svo. 

er's  Works.  10  vols.  Svo. 
D  Stace.  a  complete  collection  of  the 
best  Plays  and  Farces,  with  Portraits  of  the 
rmere.  4  vol 
Lanzi's  History  of  Painting  in  Italy,  from 
the  revival  of  t!ie  F::.  :lose  of 

ry,  translated  by  Ros- 
.- 
Lempriere's  Lectures  on  Natural  History . 
Svo. 

-  Scottish,  Gael,  or  Celtic  Manners, 
the    Highlanders.    2 
vols   Svo. 

Life  and  Times  of  William  IT.,  13  plates. 
Svo. 
Life  of  Lord  Herbert  of  Cberbury.  Svo. 

:  the  Inquisition    =vo. 
Lyon's  Attempt   to  reach   Repulse   Bay. 

beologieal  Lectures.  12mo. 

L\  re  of  Love.  2  vols   12mo. 

Letters  of  Amelia  to  her  Mother,  by  the 
author  of  •  Dr.  Syntax." 

Lives  i  Poets.  3  vols.  ISmo. 

Life  and  e  iptain  Beaver.  R.  1ST., 

by  Captain  W.  H   Smythe.  Svo. 

:  lien's  Spirit  of  Laws.  2  vols.  Svo. 
Murray's  History  of  European  Languages. 
2  vols.  9vol 

ay's  Africa.  2  vols.  Svo. 

-■i\  Dictionary.  Svo. 
Maccull  ch'a  Commercial  Dictionary.  8vo. 
McAi  '.  -    Pvo. 

Memoirs  of  History  '  f  France,  dictated 


10 


«y  Napoleon  to  Montholon  and  Gotirgaud. 
i  vols.  cvo. 

Malcom's  Persia.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Mowbray  on  Poultry.  l2mo. 

Murphy's  Tacitus,  complete  in  1  M«.  WO. 

Massiriger's  Plays,  by  Gilford.  4  vols.  cvo. 

Montagues  Ornithological  Dictionary  of 
British  Birds    ?vo. 

Montaigne's  Essays.  3  vols.  cvo. 

Michaux's  Sylva.  2  vols.  Svo 

Machiavel's  Works.  2yols.4to. 

Mcintosh's  Practical  Gardener.  2  vols. 
Svo.  coloured  plates. 

Macknigbt  on  the  Epistles .  -vo. 

Marlowe's,  Kit,  Dramatic  \\  ork=.   3  vols. 

Maurice's  Ancient  History  of  Hindostan. 

3  MeaWa  French  and  English  Dictionary, 
on  thebasis  of  Nugent.  18mo.  .         - 

Mill's  Bietory  of  British  India.  6 vols,  svo 

Madan'sJuv 

MukUeton'sUfeofCIa         ! 

Millot's  Elements  i  t  History.    6  vols.8vo. 

Mi  .  a  new  edition  by  Lord 

Redesdale.  8  vols.  Svo. 

.  France,  in  1888  and  1KW. 

2  MoshVini'a  Ecclesiastical  History.    4  vols. 

^Mill's  History  of  the  Crusades.    2  vols. 

Alton's  Poetical  Works.   6  vols  Svo 

Manual  of  Astrology",  or  Book  of  the  stars. 

^Memoirs  ofBarond.  Tot f.   : 

/S^^Xssa^omthePa- 

^SaW°*mogTapbical    Sketches   ?f 
British  Characters,  recently  deceased    - 

4tATn-khamr«  Histbrv  of  England. 
Mam*  mirations  of  Vegetable  Pfcr-o- 

'"Sinus    .  *•  a"d  Life'  24ma 

°H  CSf  of.   •»    <*">* 


,;    tj   Chateaubriand,   French.     3 

■to.  ?«-- 

'.v^eauthorofW, 

W55iSKi  Dissertation  on  the  Geography 
KTlSS^  by  Roseoe    14  vols 
fSaio, 


Nimrod  on  the  Condition  of  Hunters.  Svo. 

Napoleon,  a  Poem  in  French  and  Italian. 
2  vols.  cvo. 

Ned  Clinton,  or  the  Commissary,  a  novel, 
in  3  vols.  _    .  „ 

Naples,  and  the  Campagna  Fehcae.  cvo, 
coloured  plates. 

Negris'  Greek  Proverbs,  lcmo. 

New  Chesterfield,  18mo. 

Nutt's  Confectioner.  12mo. 

New  Readings  from  Old  Authors,  contain- 
in^  humorous  engravings  illustrating  cele- 
brated passages  from  various  authors. 

Old  English  Baron.  18mo. 
Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  lcmo. 
Olnev's  Hymns  24mo.  , 

Oriental  Herald  and  Continental  Review 

9  Oratore's  Attici.-Dobsons  Attic  Greet 
Orator-  comprising  Demosthenes.  Eschi 
n;  Antiphoii.  Andocides,  Lysias,  Dianar 
,  Demies,  togethe: 
with  the  Greek  Sophists,  with  the  Lat.n  in 
t^rnrptations.  Id  vols.  Bvo. 

Oxmrd  English  Prize  Essays,  a  collect.™ 
of  the  Essays  that  have  obtained  the  prize 
from  1771  to  the  present  time.  4  1 

Oxford  Prize  Poems.  Bvo. 

Old  Maidens  Talisman,  by  the  author  o 
•  Invisible  Gentleman."  3  vols. 

PY,p(,  5  Works,  in  1  vol.  Bvo. 

PoSe's  Works,  in  @  vols.  12mo. 

Paradise  Lost  and  Regained.  »■*■-. 

Paradise  Lost  and  Regained,  with  platt 
by  Martin,  royal  cvo 
'Paul  and  Virginia.  24mo. 

Prince  Arthur.  2  vols   24me. 

P^re^rine  Pickle.  2  vols.  24mo. 

Pilkingicm-s   Dictionary   of  Painters. 

Vf-'5'    ""'  ■.-.'       x  n 

Peter  Pindar's  W  orks.  cvo. 

•  Grecian  Antiquities,  cvo. 
Pennington's  Journey  into  various  par 

°^Se^^HistoryandRe. 

Parry's    Three    Voyages,     j   vote.    1W 

P  Palev's  Works.  1  vol.  8vo. 
Pale'v's  Evidences  24mo. 
Palev's  Theology.  24mo. 

-  Philosophy.  24mo. 
p. .nrsnn  on  the  Creed.  Bvo. 

."zzi  and  his  Plan  of  Education, 
Dr.  Biber.  Bvo. 

KSMSS.*  «--■».? 

PoetffScenka  Gra?ca;.  Svo. 

Parkhnrst's  Greek  Lexicon .  :ta 

Parkhur*t?s  Hebrew  Lexicon.  8vo. 

p£S  DramaMc  Works,  with  notes 
^^r^Uam,  Select  Work,  3v 
^P.t.rsdorrTs  Abridgment  Jo  vols^va 

porter  on  the  Nature  and  ProperUe* 
the  Sogar  Cane.  Bvo. 

ria.  4  vols.  4to. 


11 


Pinnock's  Youner  Gentleman's  Library. 
18mo. 

Pinnock's  Young  Ladies'  Library.  Jgmo. 

Pinnock's  Catechism. 

Piatt's  New  Biographical  Dictionary.  5 
vols.  gvo. 

Poetry  and  Poets,  or  Anecdotes  of  Poets 
in  all  Ages.  3  vols.  12mo. 

Percivls  History  of  Italy.  2  vols.  Bvo. 

Potter's  Sophocles,  cvo. 

Potter's  Euripides.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Planches  Descent  of  the  Danube  from 
RatrsboA  to  Yienna.  gvo. 

Parry's  Las:  Days  of  Lord  Byron.  8vo. 

Plutus  of  Aristophanes,  cvo." 

Picken's  Traditionary  Stories.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

Polish  Tales,  by  Mrs.  Gore.    3  vols.  12mo. 

Prima  Donna.  The.   1  vol.  I2mo. 

Piea  for  the  Midsummer  Fairies,  bv  T. 
Ho  «L   13mo. 

Petroni  Penaamenti  d'illustri  Autori.  2 
vols.  12vo. 

Robertson's  Works.  3  vols.  Bvo. 

Robertson's  Works,  in  1  vol.  roval  6vo. 

Roderick  Random.  2  vols.  24mo\ 

Robinson  Crusoe.  2  vols.  24mo. 

Robinson  Crusoe.  2  vols.  12mo.  16  plates. 

Rasselas.  24mo. 

Reign  of  Terror.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Rooke's  Arrian.  8vo. 

Red  Book  of  England     12mo. 

Rovigo.  Duke  de,  Memoirs  of.   4  vols.  Bvo. 

Ranking"  s  Historical  Researches  into  the 
Wars  of  the  Monguls  and  Romans.  4to. 
plates. 

Rankiag's  Conquest  of  Peru.  8vo. 

Raleigh's  Historyof  the  World.  Ovols.Svo. 

RaffiVs-Hi^ocy  of  Java.  2  vols.  gvo. 

Rennie's  Alphabet  of  Botany.  18mo. 

Rennie's  Alphabet  of  Insect's,   lgmo. 

Reynold's,  Sir  J.,  Lectures  on  Painting. 
24mo. 

Ritson's   Ancient   Songs  and  Ballads.    2 
-     . 

Roberts'  Memoirs  of  the  Houses  of  York 
and  Lancaster.  2  vols 

Robinson's  Scripture  Characters.  2  vols. 
8vo. 

Robinson's  Christian  System.  3  vols.  gvo. 

Rogers'  Italy,  5o'  splendid  plates. 

Rogers'  Pleasures  of  Memorv,  and  other 
Poems,  splendid  p 

•  of  Modern  Fencing.    18mo. 

Rollin:s  Ancient  History,  maps  and  plates. 
3  vols. 

Russell  s  Modern  Europe.  3  vols.  8vo. 

Russell's  Ancient  Europe.   3  vols.  cvo. 

Real  Devii  s  Walk,  plates  by  Cruikshank. 
18rno. 

Resents  Latin  Classics.  52  vols.  lemo. 

Retch's  Illustrations  of  Hamlet,  Othello, 
Shylock.     Macbeth,     Midsummer 
Dream,   Romeo  and  Juliet,  and   Tempest 
18mo. 

Rose's  Ariosm's  Orlando.  7  vols.  8vo. 

Ryan's  Dramatic  Table  Talk,  plates.    3 
vols.  8vo. 
Rydge'sYeterinary  Surgeon's  Manual.  8vo. 
Rodgers'  Lectures' on  the  Liturgy.   2  vols. 
8vo. 


Recollections  of  a  Service  in  Columbia. 
2  vols.  Bvo. 

Refugee  in  America.  3  vols. 

Robber.  The.  bv  the  author  of  "Chartley." 

Read's  Rouge  and  N'oir,  a  poem.  ISmo. 
Retch's    Fancies,    with    descriptions    by 
Mrs.  JaniftS"ti    4to. 

Rose  it's  Leo  X.  4  vols.  gvo. 

Roscoes  Lorenzo  de  Medici.  4  »ols.  8vo. 

Richardson's  Works.  19  vote,  cvo. 

Shakspeare,  Valpy's edition,  15  vols.  ISmo. 
plates. 

Shakspeare,  with  notes  by  Harness.  8  vols. 
Bvo.  plates. 

Sh;iK.speare,  with  notes  by  Singer.  12  vols. 
12mo.  ( 

Shakspeare.   12  vols.  12mo.  plates. 

Shakspeare.  l  vol.  cvo. 
veare.   -1  vo'    1~'!<  >■ 

Spectator.   1  vol   gvo. 

Sp-ctator.  6  vols  foolscap  -••  o. 

's  Wonders  of  E'ora.  cvo. 

Smiths,  Adam,  Works    5  vols.  21mo. 

Smith's,  Adam,  Philosophical  Essays.  4to. 

Smith's,  Aua.  . 

Segur's  History  of  the  Expedition  to  Rus- 
sia. 2  vols.  .-vo. 

Strutt's  Biographical  Dictionary  Qf  En- 
gravers. 2  vols.  4to. 

Smith's  Art  of  Drawing.  8vo. 

Statistical  Illustrations  of  Great  Britain. 
8vo. 

Septnagjnt.  2  vols.  24mo. 

Scott's    Bonier    Antiquities    of   England 
~     '  .        -    :t  i. 

balmonia,  bv  Sir  H.  Daw.  i2mo. 

Swiff  > -Works,  by  Sir  \Yalter  Scott.    18 

Sheridaniana,  or^Anecdotes  of  R.  B.  She- 
ridan. 12mo. 

Strutt's  Sports  and  Pastimes  of  the  People 
of  England,  cvo. 

Sterne's  Works.   - 

Sidney^.  Sir  Philip.  Works.  3  vols.  gvo. 

Stuart  and  Revett's  Antiquities  of  Athens. 
fi  iio. 

Satan  in  Search  of  a  Wife.  ISmo.  plates. 

Scott's.  Sir  Walter.  Poetical  Works,  new 
edition,  revised  by  the  author,  fine  plates. 
12  vols.  i2mo. 

Scott's,  Sir  Walter,  Poetical  Works.  1 
vol.  gvo. 

Scott's  British  Field  Sports,  cvo.  plates. 

Scott  s  Spottsiuan's  Repositorv.  4to. 
plates. 

t    Correspondence    of    Madame    de 
Maintenon.  3  vols.  gvo. 

Selections-  from  the  Edinburg  Review, 
comprising  the  best  articles  in  that  Journal, 
from  its  commencement  to  the  present  time, 
by  Maurice  Cross.  4  jart7H  vols.  - 

Sherloch's  Works.  5  vols.  gvo. 

Southey's  Select  Works  of  the  British 
Poets,  from  Chaucer  to  Johnson     - 

Sphinx.  The.  a  collection  of  500  Enigmas, 
Charades,  fee,  &c. 

Staple-tons  Life  of  Canning.  3  vols.  8vo. 

Steamers  versus  Stages,  plates,  lemo. 

Stebbing's  Lives  of  the  Italian  Poets, 
vols.  6vo. 


12 


Stories  of  Popular  Voyages  and  Travels 
in  South  America.  12mo. 
Stevens'  Lectures  on  Heads.  24mo. 

Sturm's  Reflections.-  3  vols.  12mo. 

Styles'  Life  of  Canning.  2  vols   8vo. 

Shakspearian  Dictionary,  by  Thomas 
Dolby,  j--2.no. 

Sherlock's  Works,  by  Hughes.  5  vols.  8vo. 

Somerville's,  Mrs.,  Viesvs  of  the  Motions 
of  the  Heavenly  Bodies.  Svo. 

Southey's  History  of  the  late  War  in  Spain 
aad  Portugal.  4  vols.  Svo. 

Southey's  History  of  the  West  Didies.  3 
vols.  Svo. 

Spenser's  Faerie  Queen.  2  vols.  24mo. 

Spenser's  Faerie  Queen,  with  Memoirs, 
Notes,  ai:d  Glossary.  5  vols,  small  evo 

St.  Pierre's  Harmonies  of  Nature.  3  vols. 
8vo. 

Sully's  Memoirs.  5  vols.  8vo. 

Segur's  History  of  Russia  and  Peter  the 
Great.  Svo. 

Session  of  Parliament  of  1825. 

Stolberg's,  Count.  Travels  through  Ger- 
many, Switzerland,  and  Italy,  translated 
by  Thomas  Hoicroft.  3  vols.  12mo. 

"Sylva  Brittanica,  by  J.  G.  Strutt.  large 
8vrj.  plates. 

Sketches  of  Scarborough,  a  Humorous 
Poem,  with  coloured  plates. 

Sketch  Book  of  Fashion,  in  3  vols.  12mo. 

Sanford's  Female  Worthies.  ]2mo. 

Songs  of  the  Chase.  12mo. 

Southey's.  R.,  Yindicite  AnglieaiiEe.  Svo. 

Skinner's,  Captain,  Excursions  in  India. 
2  vols.  Svo. 

Tatler  and  Guardian.  Svo. 

Three  Years  in  Italy.   12mo. 

Taylor's  Holy  Living  and  Dying.  12mo. 

Turner's,  Sharon,  History  of  England.  12 
vols.  Svo. 

Temple's,  Sir  Wiliiam,  Works.  4  vols. 
Svo. 

Traveller's  Oracle,  by  Dr.  Kitchener. 

Tales  of  other  Days,  plates  by  Cruik- 
shank.  12mo. 

Tales  of  Travels  in  Turkey.  12mo. 

Tavlcr's,  Jeremy,  Whole  Works,  by 
Bishop  Heber.  15  vols.  Svo. 

Thomas  a  Kempis.  8vo.  Translated  by 
Dijbdin. 

Turner's  Annual  Tour.  2  vols.  Svo.  splen- 
did plates. 

Takings,  or  Life  of  a  Collegian,  26  co- 
loured plates.  8ve. 

Tarn  O'Shanter  and  Souter  Johnny,  plates 
b.  Lnndseer. 

'Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered,  translated  by 
Hunt.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Tenneman's  Manual  of  the  History  of 
Philosophy.  Svo. 

Thorn's  Collection  of  Early  Prose  Ro- 
mances. 4  vols,  small  Svo. 

Tom  Raw,  or  Adventures  of  a  Cadet  in 
India,  coloured  plates.  Svo. 

Tooke's  Diversions  of  Parley,  new  edition 
with  additions.  2  vols   Bvo. 

Thelyphthora,  or  a  Treatise  on  Female 
Ruin,  in  its  Causes.  ErTects,  Consequences, 
Prevention,  and  Remedy.  3  vols.  Svo. 

Fransrhenane  .Memoirs.  Svo. 


Tusser  on  Good  Husbandry.  Svo. 

Treatise  on  Planting.  8vo. 

Treatise  on  the  Horse.  Svo. 

Taylor's,  Jeremy,  Sermons.  2  vols.  8vo. 

The  Tropical  Agriculturist.  Svo. 

Tour  through  New  Holland.  18mo. 

Town  and  Country  Brewery  Book.  18mo 

Taylor's,  James.  View  of  the  Monej 
System  of  England.  Svo. 

Treatise  on  the  Police  and  Crimes  of 
London.  Bvo. 

Turner's  Tour  in  the  Levant.  3  vols.  Svo 
coloured  plates. 

Universal  Songster,  or  Museum  of 
Mirth,  with  plates  by  Cruikshank.  3  vols 
cvo. 

Upham's  History  and  Doctrine  of  Bud 
hism.  4to. 

Vieyra's  Portuguese  Dictionary. 

Vetus  Testamentum  ex  Versione  Septua- 
ginta.  2  vols. 

Vulney's  New  Researches  in  Ancient 
History.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Voltaire's*  Philosophical  Dictionary.  C 
vols.  12mo. 

Vocal  Anthology,  or  Flowers  of  Song.  2 
vols.  4to. 

Ward's,  II.  G.,  Mexico.  2  vols.  Svo.  plates. 

Windham's  Speeches.  3  vols.  Svo. 

Wilson's,  Rae,  Travels  in  Norway,  Swe- 
den, &.c.  Svo. 

Watkins'  Scripture  Biography.  12mo. 

Waldstein,  or  the  Swedes  in  Prague.  2 
vols.  l2mo. 

Wright'3  Slavery  at  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope.  8vo. 

Walton  and  Cotton's  Angle*,  plates.  32mo. 

Webster's  Dramatic  Works,  edited  by 
Dyce.  4  vols,  small  8vo. 

Webster's  Metrical  Romances.  3  vols  Svo. 

Weber's  German  and  English  Dictionary. 
12mo. 

Webster's  Travels  through  the  Crimea, 
Tin  key,  and  Egypt.  2  vols.  Svo. 

World  in  Miniature,  containing  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  Religion,  Manners,  Customs,  &.c. 
of  various  Countries.  43  vols.  ISmo.  splen- 
did I  v  bound. 

Waddington's  History  of  the  Church.  8vo. 

Women  as  they  Are,  a  novel,  by  Mrs. 
Gore. 

Way  of  the  World,  by  the  author  of  "  De 
Lisle." 

White's  Veterinary  Surgeon.  12mo. 

Walpole,  Horace,  Letters  of,  to  the  Earl 
of  Hertford.  4to. 

Walpole,  Horace,  Letters  of,  to  George 
Montagu,  Esq.,  from  lTloto  1770.  4to. 

W  i  ti'.-n's  Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered.  8vo. 

West  India  Sketch  Book.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Young  s  Latin  and  English  Dictionary. 
Svo. 
Young  Man's  Book  of  Knowledge.    12mo. 

Zelucco,  by  Dr.  Moore.  2  vols.  24mo. 
Zotti's  Italian  Grammar.  12mo. 
Zimmerman  on  Solitude. 
Zara,  a  Poem.  8vo. 


13 


ARTS    AND    SCIENCES. 


Adye's  Pocket  Gunner,  with  additions  by 
Egerton. 

Arcana  of  Science  and  Art,  for  1834. 

Analytical  Essay  on  the  Construction  of 
Machines.  4to. 

Alderson  on  the  Steam  Engine.  Svo. 
plates. 

Art  of  Glass  Blowing,  by  a  French  Artist. 
ISmo. 

,    Bonycastle's  Algebra.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Berthollet  on  DVeing,  with  additions  by 
Dr.  Ure.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Buchanan  on  Mill  Work,  with  additions 
by  Tredgold.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Barlow  on  Strength  and  Stress  of  Timber. 
8vo. 
\   Berzelius  on  the  Blow  Pipe.  Svo. 

Britton  and  Pugin's  Illustrations  of  the 
Public  Buildings  of  London.  2  vols. 

Britton  and  Le  Keux's  Antiquities  of 
Normandy. 

Beauchant's  Naval  Gunner.  18mo. 

Billington's  Architectural  Dictionary. 
12mo. 

Brindley's  Compendium  of  Civil  Architec- 
ture. 12mo. 

Bridge's,  Rev.  B.,  Treatise  on  Mechanics. 
8vo. 

Badnal  on  Rail  Roads.  Svo. 

Cres well's  Geometry.  Svo. 

Creswell's  Maxima  and  Minima.  Svo. 

Chambers'  Civil  Architecture,  plates.  4to. 

Codrington  on  Light. 

Clerk's  Essay  on  Naval  Tactics.  Svo. 

Clias'  Gymnastic  Exercises.  8vo. 

Cooper's  Complete  Domestie  Distiller 
ISmo. 

Cabinet  of  Arts,  a  complete  System  of 
Drawing  and  Painting,  with  130"  coloured 
and  plain  plates.  2  vols.  4to. 

Campbell's  Dictionary  of  Military  Science. 
Svo. 

Carding  and  Spinning  Master's  Assistant. 
8vo. 

Classical  Ornament,  for  the  use  of  Sculp- 
tors, Painters,  Modellers,  &c.  3  vols.  4to. 

Dictionary  of  Chemical  and  Philosophical 
Apparatus.  Svo. 

Dupin's  Mathematics,  with  additions  by 
G.  Birkbeck.  Svo. 

Douglas',  Sir  Howard,  Treatise  on  Naval 
Gunnery.  8vo. 

Emerson's  Principles  of  Mechanics.  Svo. 

Earnshaw's,  S.,  Dynamics,  or  an  Elemen- 
tary Treatise  on  Motion.  Svo. 

Erechtheion,  The,  at  Athens,  by  Henry 
Inwood.  folio,  numerous  plates. 

Foster  on  the  Atmosphere.  8vo. 
Ferguson's  Lectures  on  Mechanics.  Svo. 
Ferguson's     Lectures    on    Experimental 
Philosophy,  Astronomv.  &c.  Svo. 
Farey  on  the  Steam  Engine.  4to, 


Flaxman's  Lectures  on  Sculpture,  with  53 
plates,  large  Svo. 

Grpgory's,  O.,  LLD,  Mathematics  for 
Practical  Men  ;  being  a  common-place  boo* 
of  Principles,  Theories,  Rules,  and  Tables, 
in  various  departments  of  pure  and  mixed 
Mathematics,  with  their  most  useful  Appli- 
cations, especially  to  the  pursuits  of  Sur- 
veyors,' Architects,  Mechanics,  and  Civil 
Engineers.  2d  edition.  Svo.  bds. 

Gray  on  Rail  Roads.  Svo. 

Gray's  Operative  Chemist.  Svo.  plates. 

Gregory's  Lectures  on  Philosophy,  Astro- 
nomy, &.c.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Guest  on  Cotton  Spinning.  4lo.  plates. 

Galloway  on  Steam.  Svo! 

Galloway  and  Herbert's  History  and  Pro- 
gress of  the  Steam  Engine,  large  "Svo. 

Gwilt's  Rudiments  of  the  Architecture  of 
Vitruvius.  Svo. 

Gothic  Furniture,  27  coloured  plates  by 
Pugin.  4  to. 

Gregorys  Treatise  on  Mechanics.  3  vols 
vo. 

Grecian  Remains  in  Italy.  2-3  coloured 
plates,  folio. 

Hornsby  on  Land  Surveying.  Svo. 
Hutton's   Mathematics,  "new   edition    ;^y 
Ramsay.  1  vol.  8vo. 
Hutton's  Mathematical  Tracts.  3  v.  Svo. 
Harding  on  the  Use  of  the  Lead  Pencil.  4to. 

Jamieson's  Dictionary  of  Mechanical  Sci 
ence.  4to.  plates. 

Keith's  Geometry.  Svo. 

Keith's  Trigonometry.  Svo. 

Key  to  Nicholson's  Mathematics.  Svo. 

Legh's  Music  of  the  Eye.  or  Essavs  on 
Architecture.  Svo.  plates. 

Little  on  Logarithms.  8vo. 

Leslie's  Geometrical  Analysis.  Svo. 

Leslie's  Philosophy  of  Arithmetic.  8vo. 

Leslie's  Geometry  and  Trigonometry.  Svo. 

Leslie's  Geometrj'.  8vo. 

Long's  Rail  Road  Manual.  JSmo. 

Lardner  on  the  Steam  Engine.  12mo 

Laplace's  System  of  the  World,  translated 
by  Harte.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Lardner's  Differential  and  Integral  Calcu- 
lus. Svo. 

Murphy  on  Weaving,  15  plates.  Svo. 

Morrice  on  Brewing.  Svo. 

Mackensie's  1000  Experiments  in  Chemis- 
try. Svo. 

Mackernan  on  Printing  and  Dyejne 
Silks.  Svo. 

Muller's  Elements  of  Differential  Calcu- 
lus  Svo. 


Miller's  Hydrostatics.  Svo. 

F?ichor?mVs  Operative  Mechanic.  Svo. 
Nicholson's  Philosophy.  2  vols.  Svo 


14 


Nicholson's  Principles  of  Architecture.  3 
vols,  rvo. 
Nicholson's  Practical  Builder.  2  vols.  4to. 
Nicholson  on  Masonry  and  Stone  Cutting. 

Nicholson's  Mechanic's  Companion.  8vo. 
Nicholson's  Carpenter's  Guide.  4to. 
Nicholson's  Cabinet  Makers  Guide,  4to. 
Nicholson's  Encyclopedia.  6  vols.  cvo. 
Newton  s  Principia,  new  edition.  2  large 
-vo. 

Partington's  Builder's  Complete  Guide. 
Svo. 

Partington's  Ship  Builder's  Guide.  Svc. 

Partington^  Clock  and  Watch-maker's 
cVo. 

Partington's  Printer's  Guide.  - 

Partington's  Engraver's  Guide,  svo. 

Parti  niton's  Coach-maker  and  Wheel 
wrigbt'a 

Partington's  Mechanic's  Library,  -vo. 

Partington's  Manual  of  Natural  and  Ex 
perimental  Philosophy,  2  vols.  cvo. 

Peddie's    Cotton    Manufacturer's    Guide 

"Peddie's  Linen  and  Woollen  Manufactu 
rer's  Guide,  lcino. 

Peddie's  Weaver  and  Warper  s  Assistant 

pac;.:,. .  .         |  -   i    Me.  12mo. 

Panteirs,  Sir  Henry;  Treatise  on  Roads 
cvo.  _      .         Q 

Powell's  Treatise  on  Optics   Syo. 

Piavfair's  Philosophy.  2  vols.  8  o. 

Pone  on  Bridge  Architecture.  Bv«fc 

Practical  Surveying  and  Plan  Drawing, 
cvo.  plates. 

RobisorTs  Mechanical  Philosophy,  with 
nrup*  b--  Brewster.  4  vols.  8vo. 

Report  of  the  Directors  of  the  Liverpool 
an  1  Manchester  Rail  Way.   -vo. 

.  Navigation  and -N a a- 

tical  Astronomy,  cvo.  w-atrh 

Reids  Treatise  on  Clock  and  Watch- 
making, cvo. 

Stua't  on  the  Steam  Engine.  8vo; 
liuart's  Anecdotes  of  Steam  Engines  and 
Other  Inventions.  2  vols.  l8mo. 

Smeatons^Report  on  Canals:  Rivers,  Har 
ho'ir=   &f   &c  3  vols.  4to. 
^eelts  Ih^pmasters  Assistant,  cvo. 


Smith's   Panorama  of  Science  and  Art 

2  vols.  cvo. 

Smith's  Mechanic  Arts.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Smith  on  Chimneys,  -vo. 

Smith's  Origin  and  Progress  of  Architec- 
ture. 

Stuart  and  Revett's  Antiquities  of  Athens. 
4  vols,  folio. 

Stuart's  Dictionary  of  Architecture,  iDus- 
trated  by  1000  figures.  3  vols.  Bro 

Sutliffe  on  Cotton  Spinning.  &c.  cvo. 

Soane's.  John,  Designs  for  Public  and 
Private  Buildings,  folio. 

3t4  -r.e's  Naval  .Architecture,  folio. 

Starkart's  Naval  Architecture    folio. 

Tingrey's  Painter  and  Varnisber's  Guide. 
12mo. 

^redfoid  on  Cast  Iron  and  other  Metals, 
cvo. 

Tredgold  on  Warming  and  Ventilating 
Public  Buildings,  tvo. 

■old  on  Steam.  4to. 

Tredgold  on  Rail  Roads  and  Steam  Car- 
riages   -  ...  .         .=_ 

Turn  bull  on  Strength  and  Dimensions  of 
Cast  Iron  Beams,  cvo. 

Theory  and  Practice  of  Warming  and 
Ventilating  Public  Buildings,  cvo. 

Tucker's  Philosophical  Catechism.  12mo. 

TrendaU'a,  E.  W..  Designs  for  Cottages 
and  Villas,  in  the  Grecian.  Gothic,  and 
Italian  Styles  of  Architecture.  4to.  plates. 

Vince's  Complete  System  of  Astronomy. 

3  vols.  4to. 

Wood's  Practical  Treatise  on  Rail  Roads, 
with  additions,  large  cvo. 
Whites     Century    of    Inventions.     4u>; 

P  Whewbeirs  First  Principles  of  Mechanics, 
cvo. 

Youngs  Elements  of  Mechanics,  cvo. 
Young's  Elements  of  Integral  Calculus. 

^Young's  Elements  of  Differential  Calcu- 
lus, cvo. 

Young's  Algebra,  cvo. 

Young's  Elements  of  Geometry,  cvo. 

Young's  Elements  of  Analytical  Geome- 

trYouVn°Ss  Elements  of  Pure  and  Spherical 
Trigonometry,  cvo. 


WORKS  ON  MEDICINE.  SURGERY,  &C. 


\dams  on  Artificial  Pupil,  evo. 
Adams  on  Eciropium.  fcvo. 

Morbid  Poisons  -£0-  4      of 

...  Treatise  on  the  Properties  oi 
Malvern  Water    gvo.        R         _     8v0.  eo- 
Alcoek's  Lectures  on  Surgery.    e>o 

,0\rSr?Ahv%  Surgical  Work,  4  vols.  8vo. 

Animal.  The.  kmga.m  of  Cuuer,  wan 
lated  by  McMurtne.  4vols.e\o. 


Allen's.  M  .  C*e»  ot  Insanity,  gvo. 

Ayre,  J  •  ni  Dropsy  of  the  Brain,  cvo. 

'Avre   J    on  Diseases  of  the  Liver.  Svo. 

Anne=tv  on  Diseases  of  India.  Svo 

Armstrong's  Morbid  Anatomy  of  the 
Stomach.  Liver,  and  Bowe!s.  ■ Mo. 

Armstrong's  Morbid  Anatom>  of  Be«f- 
ture  and  Treatment  of  Acute  and  Chrome 
Diseases.  Svo. 

MUn'aBurgety.  2  vols.  cvo. 

Allan's  Manual  of  Mineralogy. 


15 


Bacot  on  Syphilis.  8vo. 

Buchan's  Domestic  Medicine.  8vo. 

Brande's  Manual  of  Pharmacy. 

Brande's  Outline  of  Geology.  12mo. 

Brande's  Manual  of  Chemistry.  2  vols. 
8vo. 

Bell,  Charles,  on  Injuries  of  the  Spine  and 
Thigh  Bone.  4to. 

Bell,  Charles,  on  the  Nerves. 

Bell's,  Charles,  Illustrations  of  the  Great 
Operations  of  Surgery. 

Bell's.  John,  Principles  of  Surgery.  4  vols, 
gvo.  coloured  plates. 

Bateman  on  Cutaneous  Diseases.  8vo. 

Barclav  on  the  Arteries.  12mo. 

Brown's  Essays  on  Fever,  Inflammation. 
&c.  &.c  8vo. 

Burrows  on  Insanity.  8vo. 

Blumenbach's  Physiology,  translated  by 
EHiottson.  6vo. 

Blumenbach's  Manual  of  Comparative 
Anaromy.  8vo. 

Baron  on  the  Structure  of  Man.  4to. 

Burns'  Principles  of  Midwifery,  7th  edi- 
tion. 8vo. 

Beale  on  Distortion  of  the  Spine.  8vo. 

BallingaH's  Military  Surgery.  8vo. 

Blundell's  Physiological  and  Pathological 
Researches.  8vo. 

Burne  on  Typhus  Fever.  8vo. 

Blane  on  Diseases  of  Seamen. 

Bancroft  on  Yellow  Fever.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Brown's  Illustrations  of  the  Conchology 
of  Great  Britain.  4to. 

Blackmore,  E.,  on  Consumption.  8vo. 

Baillie's,  M.,  Works,  by  Wardrop.  2  vols. 
8vo. 

Butt's  Botanical  Primer.  12mo. 

Blundell's,  James,  Principles  and  Practice 
of  Obstetricy.  large  8vo. 

Bushnan  on  Worms  in  the  Blood.  8vo. 

fioase's  Treatise  on  Primary  Geology. 

Clarke  on  Diseases  of  Women.  2  vols. 
8vo. 

Clarke  on  Diseases  of  Children.  2  vols. 
8vo. 

Carus'  Introduction  to  Comparative  Ana- 
tomy. 2  vols.  Pvo.  and  plates  4to. 

Craigie's  Pathological  Anatomy. 

Cloquct's  System  of  Anatomy. 

Culleii's  Works,  by  Thomson.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Cullen's  Works,  by  Gregory.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Cooper,  Sir  A.,  on  Structure  and  Diseases 
of  the  Testis.  4to.  coloured  plates. 

Cooper,  Sir  A.,  on  Hernia,  folio,  plates. 

Cheyne  on  Apoplexy.  8vo. 

Celsus  on  Medicine,  with  notes  by  Lee. 
8vo. 

Conversations  on  Geology.  12mo. 

Combes'  System  of  Phrenology. 

Cox  on  the  Bones,  Ligaments,  Sec.  Sec. 
12mo. 

Christison's,  R..  Treatise  on  Poisons.  8vo. 

Corbyn,  F.,  on  Epidemic  Cholera.  8vo. 
*  Chapman's,  H.  T.,  Description  of  Surgical 
Apparatus.  1  vol.  8vo.  with  atlas. 

Cheyne  on  Water  in  the  Brain.  8vo. 

Celsus  de  Medicinae,  with  notes  by  MHli- 
gan.  large  8vo. 

Campbell's  Midwifery.  8vo. 

Carbutt's  Clinical  Lectures.  8vo. 


Cameron  on  the  Influence  of  Variety  in 
Diet. 

Cooper's,  B.  B.,  Surgical  Essays,  coloured 
plates.  8vo. 

Davis'  Operative  Midwifery.  4to.  plates. 

De  La  Beeches' Selection  or  tne  Geological 
Memoirs,  contained  in  the  Annates  des 
.Mines,  gvo. 

De  La  Beeches'  Geological  Manual.  8vo. 

Duppa's  Linnean  System  of  Botany.  3 
vols.  Bva, 

Davy's  Elements  of  Chemical  Philosophy. 
8vo. 

Darwell  on  Infants.  12mo. 

Dalrymple's  Anatomy  of  the  Human  Eye. 
8vo. 

DanielFs  Meteorological  Essays  and  Ob- 
servations. Svo. 

E>say  on  Chemical  Analysis,  by  Thenard, 
translated  by  J.  G.  Children.  8vo. 

England,  W.,  on  the  Kidneys.  8vo. 

Eccles  on  Ulceration  of  the  Leg.  12mo. 

Earle  on  the  Nerves.  Svo. 

Edmund  on  the  Influence  of  Physical 
Agents. 

Fox's,  Joseph,  Natural  History  and  Dis- 
eases of  the  Teeth.  4to. 

Forsythe's  Medical  Manual.  12mo. 

Forsythe's  Medical  Dietetricon.  J2mo. 

Forsythe's  Medical  Dictionary,  large  12mo. 

Fricke  on  Diseases  of  the  Eye,  with  noti  B 
by  Welbank.  Svo. 

Fvfe's  Manual  of  Chemistry,  150  plates. 
12mo. 

Fyfe's  Anatomy.  4  vols.  8vo. 

Ford  on  Dropsy. 

Fox  on  Disorders  of  Women  and  Children. 
8vo. 

Faithorn  on  the  Liver.  8vo. 

Gray's  Supplement  to  the  Pharmacopeia. 
8vo. 

Gervino  on  Children.  Rvo. 

Gooch  on  Diseases  of  Females.  8vo. 

Gooch  on  Midwifery.  8vo. 

Guthrie  on  the  Eye.  8vo. 

Guthrie  on  Gun  Shot  Wounds.  Svo. 

Guthrie  on  Diseases  and  Injuries  of  the 
Arterie3.  Svo. 

Granger's  Elements  of  General  Anatomy 
8vo. 

Gray's  Natural  Arrangement  of  British 
Plants.  2  vols.  gvo. 

Howship's,  John,  Surgery.  8vo. 

Howship,  John,  on  the  Intestines.  8vo. 

Howship,  John,  on  the  Urinary  Organs. 
8vo. 

Hawkins'  Medical  Statistics.  8vo. 

Hey's  Observations  on  Surgery.  8vo. 

Hennen's  Military  Surgery.  Svo. 

Hennen's  Medical  Topography.  Svo. 

Holland  on  the  Liver,  Sec.  Svo. 

Home,  Sir  E.,  on  Tumours.  8vo. 

Hall  on  Diseases  of  Females,  (fro. 

Hunter  on  Venereal.  8vo. 

Halford's,  Sir  H.,  Essays  and  Orations. 
12tno. 

Harrison,  E.,  on  Spinal  Disease?.  2d  edi- 
tion. Syo. 


16 


Hooker's,  W.  J.,  British  Flora.  8vo. 

Hope,  J.,  on  Diseases  of  the  Heart.  8vo. 

Hooker's,  W.  Jackson,  Botanical  Miscel- 
laay.  4to. 

Hill  on  Cupping.  ISmo. 

Hamilton's  History  of  Medicine,  Surgery, 
and  Anatomy.  2  vols.  12mo. 

James.  J.  H..  on  Inflammation.  8vo. 

Jackson,  R.,  on  Febrile  Diseases.  2  vols. 
8vo. 
.  Ingleby,  J.  F.,  on  Hemorrhage.  8vo. 

Icones',  Filicum,  Figures  and  Descriptions 
of  Ferns,  by  W.  Jackson  Hooker,  and  R.  K. 
Gitviile.  2  vols,  folio,  coloured  plates. 

Jones"  Manual  of  Pharmacology.  18ino. 

Imbrie'8  Parents'  Dental  Guide,  Svo. 

Kscker  on  Diseases  of  the  Jaws.  8vo. 
Kirby  and  Spence's  Introduction  to  En- 
tomology. 4  vols.  8vo. 
Kay's,  J.  P.,  Treatise  on  Asphyxia.  8vo. 

Lainarcke's  Conchology,  by  Crouch.  4to. 
coloured  plates. 

Lainarcke's  Conchology,  by  Crouch.  4to. 
plain  plates. 

Lainarcke's,  Epitome  of,  Conchology,  by 
Dubois.  12mo. 

Lizar's  System  of  Anatomical  Plates,  ac- 
companied with  Descriptions,  and  Physiolo- 
gical. Pathological,  and  Surgical  Observa- 
tions, folio,  splendidly  coloured. 

Linton's,  R.,  Elements  of  Surgery. 

Lawrence  on  Venereal  Diseases  of  the 
Eye.  8vo. 

Lawrence  on  the  Eye.  1  large  vol.  8vo. 

Lancet,  The,  complete  in  21  vols.  8vo. 

Lindley's,  John,  Introduction  to  Botany. 
Svo. 

Leach's  Translation  of  Gregory  and  Cel- 
sus.  8vo. 

Lyell's  Principles  of  Geology,  new  edition, 
complete  in  4  vols.  12ino. 

Lea's,  Isaac,  Introduction  to  Geology. 
8vo.  plates.  {American) 

Lawrence  on  Ruptures.  Svo. 

Marshall,  A.,  on  the  Brain.  Svo. 
Macauley's  Popular  Medical  Dictionary. 
8vo. 

Mjrrison's  Cases  of  Mental  Disease. 
- 

Munro's  Morbid  Anatomy  of  the  Brain. 
8vo.     - 

M  lino's  Anatomy  of  the  Human  Bones. 

]  Jl'.IO. 

Mcintosh's  Practice  of  Physic.  8vo. 

Mackenzie  on  Diseases  of  the  Eye.  8vo. 

Mills,  T.,  on  Disorders  of  the  Brain.  8vo. 

Mills,  T.,  on  Trachea,  Lungs,  &.c.  8vo. 

Mills,  T.,  on  Fever.  8vo. 

Medical  Essavs  and  Observations,  revised 
and  published  by  a  Society  in  Edinburgh. 
I)  vols.  8vo. 

Muughan's  Manual  of  Medical  Chemistry. 

I?1"0-  „      .     -, 

Moh's  Mineralogy.  3  vols.  8vo. 

Murray's  Chemistry.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Mautell's  Geology  of  the  South-east  of 
England.  8vo.  plates. 

Marlev  on  Diseases  of  Children.  8vo. 


Maclean  on  Epidemic  and  Pestilential 
Diseases.  2  vols.  cvo. 

Mawe's  Conchology.  8vo.  coloured  plates. 

Mawe's  System  of  Conchology.  8vo.  co- 
loured plates. 

Norton's,  R ,  Elements  of  Diagnosis,  Pa- 
thology, and  Therapeutics.  8vo. 

Naturalist's  Library,  conducted  by  Sir  VV. 
Jardine,  with  numerous  coloured  plates, 
descriptions,  wood-cuts,  and  Lives  of  cele- 
brated Naturalists, now  publishing  in  month- 
ly volumes,  foolscap  8vo. 

Pring's  Pathology.  Svo. 

Parry,  C.  H..  Collections  from  the  unpub- 
lished Medical  Writings  of.   2  vols.  evo. 

Parry's,  C.  H.,  Pathology.  Svo. 

Plumbe  on  Diseases  of  the  Skin.  Svo. 

Paris  and  Foublanque's  Medical  Jurispru- 
dence. 3  vols.  svo. 

Percival's,  T.,  Medical  Ethics,  lelmo. 

Paxton's  Introduction  of  the  Study  jf 
Human  Anatomy.  2  vols  Svo. 

Philips',  W.,  Elementary  Introduction  to 
Mineralogy.  8vo.  plates. 

Parkinson's,  James,  Introduction  to  the 
Study  of  Fossil  Organic  Remains.  8vo. 

Purland  on  the  Teeth.  Svo. 

Practical  Treatise  on  Injuries  of  the 
Head.  12mo. 

Perry's  Conchology,  or  the  Natural  His- 
tory of  Shells,  61  plates,  containing  450 
specimens  beautifully  coloured,  folio. 

Pursh's  Flora  of  North  America,  24  plates. 
2  vols.  Svo. 

Philips,  Wilson,  on  Minute  Doses  of  Mer- 
curv.  12mo. 

Plumbe  on  Vaccination.  8vo. 

Philips'  Guide  to  Geology. 

Quain's,  Jones,  Elements  of  Descriptive 
Anatomy.  Svo. 

Rhind's,  W.,  Treatise  on  Intestinal 
Worms.  8vo. 

Rucco,  J.,  on  the  Pulse.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Reunie.  A.,  on  Asthma.  Svo. 

Rose's  Manual  of  Analytical  Chemistry. 
Svo. 

Reid's,  O.  B.,  Practical  Chemistry.  8vo. 

Rvan's  Manual  of  Medical  Jurisprudence. 
8vo. 

Reid's,  H.,  Outlines  of  Medical  Botany. 
12mo. 

Robertson's,  A.,  Conversations  on  Ana- 
tomy, Phvsiology.  &c.  2d  edition.  ISnio. 

Ramsbotham's  Midwifery.  2  vols. 

Ramadge  on  Consumption.  Svo. 

Scudamore,  Charles,  on  Rheumatism. 
8vo. 

Somers  on  Army  Diseases.  8vo. 

Stephens  on  Hernia,  cvo. 

Stanly's  Manual  of  Practical  Anatomy. 
l2mo.  .  ._    « 

Saunders  on  Diseases  of  the  Eye.  Svo. 

Saunders  on  Diseases  of  the  Ear.  8vo. 

Stafford  on  Ulcers.  8vo. 

Stafford  on  Diseases  of  the  Eye.  8vo. 

Stafford  on  Diseases  and  Disorders  of  the 
Spine.  8vo. 


17 


Seymour,  E.  J.,  on  Ovaria,  in  1  vol.  8vo. 
and  atlas. 

Spurzheim's  Phrenology,  American  edi- 
tion. 2  vols.  Svo. 

Spurzheim's  Anatomy  of  the  Brain,  Ame- 
rican edition.  1  vol.  8vo. 

Spurzheim's  Physiognomy  applied  to  Phy- 
siology. Svo. 

Spurzheim's  Outlines  of  Phrenology. 

Spurzheim's  Natural  Laws  of  Man. 

Spurzheim's  Insanity. 

Salmon  on  Prolapsus  of  the  Rectum,  Svo. 

Severn's  First  Lines  in  the  Practice  of 
Midwifery,  gvo. 

Snell  on  Diseases  of  the  Teeth.  Svo. 

Supplement  to  the  Pharmacopeia.  12mo. 

Stafford  on  Strictures  of  the  Urethra.  8vo. 

Sutleffe's  Medical  and  Surgical  Cases.  8vo. 

■Shute's  Pathology,  pvo. 

Seymour  on  Insanity,  gvo. 

Severn's  First  Lines' in  Midwifery.  Svo. 

Teideman's  Anatomy  of  the  Fuetal  Brain. 
3yo. 

Thomson.  T.,  on  Heat  and  Electricity.  Svo. 

Thomson's  Chemistry  of  Inorganic  Bo- 
dies. 2  vols.  Svo. 

Tod  on  the  Anatomy  and  Physiology  of 
Hearing.  Svo. 

Turton's,  Dr..  Bivalve  Shells  of  the  British 
Islands.  20  coloured  plates.  4to. 

Thomas'  Anatomy  of  the  Bones  and  Ar- 
ticulations. ]2mo. 

Turnbull  on  Veratria.  8vo. 


Thomson's,  A.  T,  Materia  Medica,  and 
Therapeul:cs.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Uwin's  Treatise  on  Indigestion.  &cc.  <fcc. 
]2mo. 

Ure's,  A.,  Chemical  Dictionary,  4th  edi- 
tion. 8vo. 

Underwood  s  Interlinear  Translation  of 
Celsus    3  vols.  Svo. 

Underwoods  Aphorisms  of  Hippocrates. 
12mo. 

Veitch  on  Yellow  Fever.  Svo. 
Venables  on  Diabetes.  Svo. 

Warren.  George,  on  Disorders  of  the  Head. 
Svo. 

Wardrop  on  Aneurism.  Svo. 

Weiss  on  Surgical  Instruments.  Svo. 

Wadd  on  Corpulence.  Svo. 

Woodwards.  S.,  Synoptical  Table  of 
British  Organic  Remains.  8vo. 

Wallers  Elements  of  Practical  Midwife- 
ry. 24mo. 

Withering's  Botany.  4  vols.  8vo. 

Withering  Systematic  Arrangement  of 
British  Plants.  Bw». 

Withering's  Botany,  by  Macgillivray. 
l2mo. 

Wickham  on  Diseases  of  the  Joints.  Svo. 

Wright  on  Diseases  of  the  Ear.  Svo. 

Young's  Introduction  to  Medical  Litera- 
ture. 8vo. 


AMERICAN  MEDICAL  BOOKS. 


Andral's  Pathological  Anatomy.  2  vols. 
Svo. 

Abercrombie  on  the  Brain.  Svo. 

Abercrombie  on  the  Stomach.  Svo. 

Averii's  Surgery.  12mo. 

Ay  re  on  the  Liver.   ISmo. 

American  Gentleman's  Medical  Pocket 
Book.  24mo. 

American  Ladies'  Medical  Pocket  Book. 
24mo. 

Avery  on  Dyspepsia.  12mo. 

Burns  on  the  Head  and  Neck. 

Burns  on  Inflammation. 

Burns  Midwifery,  by  James.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Bells  Anatomy. '2  vols.  8vo. 

Bell's  Surgery. 

Bell's  Arteries,  coloured  plates.  8vo. 

Bell  on  Bones  and  Joints,  coloured  plates. 
4to. 

Bell  on  Teeth,  gvo. 

Bell  on  Nerves.  8-vo. 

Bostock's  Physiology.  3  vols. 

Bronpaiss'  Physiology.  Svo. 

Bronpaiss'  Phlegmasia.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Bronpaiss'  Insanity.  Svo. 

Boisseau  on  Fever.  8vo. 

Barton's  Cullen.   2  vols. 

Barton's  Medical  Botany.  2  vols.  4to.  co- 
loured plates. 

Brande's  Chemistry.  Svo. 

Berlin  on  Diseases  of  the  Heart.  8vo. 


Baudeloque  on  Puerperal  Peritonitis.  8vo. 

Bichat  on  Life  and  Death,  cvo. 

Beck's  Murray's  Materia  Medica.  Svo 

Bell  on  Wounds.  Svo. 

Bell  on  Venereal. 

Batemau's  Cutaneous  Diseases.  8vo. 

Bancroft  on  Fever,  gvo. 

Bichat's  Physiology  and  Pathology.  Svo. 

Bailie's  Morbid  Anatomy.  Svo. 

Beclard's  Anatomy.   Svo. 

Buchan's  Domestic  Medicine.  Svo. 

Brodie  on  the  Joints,  c-v.i. 

Beaumont  on  the  Gastric  Juice.  8vo. 

Bougery's  Treatise  on  Minor  Surgery.  8vo. 

Cooper's,  S.,  Surgical  Dictionary.  Svo. 

Cooper's.  Sir  A.^Lectures.  3  vols.  Svo. 

Cooper,  Sir  A.,  on  Dislocations.  8vo. 

Cooper's.  S.,  Surgery.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Chemistry  of  the  Arts.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Cox's  Dispensatory.  Svo. 

Chapmans  Therapeutics    2  vols.  Svo. 

Calhoun's  Pront  on  Urinary  Organs.  Svo 

Coster's  Physiological  Practice.  Svo. 

Cooke  on  Nervous  Diseases.  8vo. 

Cooke's  Morgagni.  2  vols. 

Cooke  on  White  Mustard  Seed. 

Colle's  Surgical  Anatomy. 

Cassenave  and  Schsedel  oh  Cutaneous 
Diseases.  Svo. 

Cook's  Pathology  and  Therapeutics.  2  vc>_'  ? 
Svo. 


18 


Cooper  and  Travers'  Surgical  Essays.  6vo. 

Cairt well's  Cullen.  2  vols.  8vo. 

roster  s  Surgical  Operations. 

t  loouet'a  Anatomy.  8vo. 

<  'omb-'s,  Dr ,  Phrenology    8vo. 

Combe's  Treatise  on  Mental  Derange- 
ment    12mo. 

G'opeland's,  James,  Medical  Dictionary. 
Svo. 

Dewees'  Practice.  2d  edition.  8vo. 

Dewees   Midwifery.  8vo. 

Dewees'  Females.  8vo. 

Dewees1  Children.   8vo. 

Dewees   Baudelocque.  Svo. 

Denmairs  Midwifery,  by  Francis.  8vo." 

DunelissoD's  Physiology.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Dinglisson  s  Medical  Dictionary.  2  v.  8vo. 

Ducamp  on  Retention  of  Urine.  8vo. 

D  ipiytren  s  Lectures  on  Surgery.  8vo. 

D°sruelles  on  Venereal. 

Darwin  s  Znonomia.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Darwin  s  Pyrotologia.  8vo. 

Darnell  on  Fevers.  8vo. 

Desault's  Surgery.  Svo. 

Dorsev's  Surgery.  Svo. 

Deans  Lectures  on  Phrenology.  12mo. 

Duffin  on  the  Spine.  12mo. 

Fberle's  Practice.  2  vols.  Svo. 
Eberle's  Diseases  of  Children.  Svo. 
Fberle's  Therapeutics,  4th  edition. 
Fwell's  Medical  Companion,  8th  edition. 
Eclectic  Repertory. 
Edinburg  Dispensatory.  Svo. 
F  (wards'  Manual  of  Materia  Medica.  Svo. 
Emerson's  Carmichael  on  Venereal.  8vo. 
Elliott's  Botany.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Farradav's  Chemical  Manipulations.  Svo. 

F°rnars  Medical  Histories.  8vo 

Fordyce  on  Fevers.  Svo. 

Faithorn  on  the  Liver.  Svo. 

Fisher  on  Small  Pox.  4to.  coloured  plates. 

Fitch's  Dental  Surgery.  Svo. 

Gooch's  Midwifery.  Svo. 

Gooch's  Females.  Svo. 

Gross'  Manual  of  Anatomy.  Svo. 

Gross'  Manuat  of  Anatomy  of  Bones.  8vo. 

Gross'  Manual  of  Obstetrics.  8vo. 

Gorham's  Medical  Chemistry.  8vo. 

(rreenhow  on  Cholera.  Svo. 

Godman's,  J.  D.,  Anatomical  Investiga- 
tions. Rvo. 

Godman's  Addresses.  1  vol.  5vo. 

Gonpil's  Exposition  of  the  New  Medical 
Doctrine.  8vo. 

Gibson's  Surgery.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Graham  on  Indigestion.  8vo. 

Good's  Study  of  Medicine.  5  vols.  8vo. 

Green's  Chemistry.  Svo. 

Great,  The,  Sympathetic  Nerve,  a  plate 
coloured. 

Graham  on  Indigestion.  8vo. 

Hall  on  Digestive  Organs.  8vo. 

Hall  on  Loss  of  Blood.  Svo. 

Hflnrv's  Theinistry,  by  Hare.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Hare;s  Ctaemiatrjr.  Bvo. 

Horner's  Practical  Anatomy.  Svo. 
Horner's  Special  Anatomy    !  vols.  3vo. 


Horner's   Pathological  Anatomy.  2  vols. 
8vo. 
Hennen's  Military  Surgery.  8vo. 
Hamilton's  Midwifery.  Svo. 
Hamilton  on  Pungatives.  Svo. 
Hooper's  Medical  Dictionary'.  Svo. 
Hosack's  Medical  Essays.  2  vols.  8vo. 
Heberden's  Medical  Commentaries.  8vo, 
Hutin's  Physiology.  12mo. 
Hunter  on  the  Blood.  8vo. 
Hunter  on  Venereal.  Svo. 
Halstead  on  Dyspepsia.  12mo. 

Innes  on  the  Muscles.  Svo. 

Johnson,  James,  on  the  Liver.  8vo. 

Johnson,  James,  on  Climate.  Svo. 

Johnson,  James,  on  Stomach,  Bowels,  &c 
12mo. 

Johnson,  James,  on  Change  of  Airs.  8vo. 

Johnson's,  James,  Civic  Life.  Svo. 

Johnson's,  James,  Cancer.  12mo. 

Johnson's.  James,  Leech.  12mo. 

Jones  on  Henimorrhage.  Svo. 

James'  Burns.  2  vols.  8vo. 

James'  Burns.  1  vol.  8vo. 

James' Merriman.  1  vol.  Svo. 

Jackson's.  Samuel,  Principles  of  Medicine. 
Svo. 

Laennec  on  the  Chest.  Svo. 
Laennec  on  the  Stethoscope.  ISmo. 
Larrey's  Surgical  Essays.  Svo. 
Lnrrey's  Gun  Shot  Wounds.  Svo. 
Larrev's  Surgical  Memoirs.  8vo. 
London  Practice  of  Midwifery.  8vo. 
Lavoisier's  Chemistry,  evo. 
Lawrence's  Phvsiology.   8vo. 
Ladv's,  The,  Medical  Guide,  by  the  late 
R.  Rush.   ISmo. 
Lobstein  on  the  Eye.  Svo. 

Medico  Chirurgical  Transactions,  selected 
by  Dr.  Havs.  Svo. 

MHVgrier'sMidwifery,byDoane.  large  Svo 

Mevgrier's  Anatomy,   large  12mo. 

Martinet's  Manual  of  Pathology.  12mo. 

Martinets  Therapeutics.   ISmo. 

Maclean  on  Hvdn. thorax.  Svo. 

Miller's  Life  and  Medical  Writings.  Svo. 

Moselv's  Tracts.  Svo. 

Miner  and  Tully  on  Fevers,  cvo. 

Morton  on  Consumption,  coloured  plates 
8vo. 

Mackensie  on  the  Eye.  8vo. 

Meckel's  Anatomy.  3  vols.  8vo. 

Orfila  on  Poisons.   12mo. 

Pharmacoepia  of  the  United  States.  Svo 

Parr's  Medical  Dictionary.  2  vols.  4to. 

Paris  Pharmacologia. 

Phillips  on  Indigestion.  Svo. 

Phillips  on  Vital  Functions.  Svo. 

Phillips  on  Acute  and  Chronic  Diseases 
8vo. 

Pemberton  on  the  Viscera. 

Paxtons  Illustrations  of  Anatomy.  2  vols 
Svo.  .  0 

Parson's  Anatomical  Preparations.   Svo. 

Rush's  Inquiries.  2  vols.  Svo 
Rush's  Leuiur&s.  8vp. 


-  »  * 


XlZZL 


19 


Rush  on  the  Mind.  8vc. 
Rush's  Hillarv.  8vo. 

Ryland's    Manual    of    the    Stethoscope. 
12mo. 
Richerand's  Physiology.  Svo. 

Saissy  on  the  Ear.  8vo. 

Swediaur  on  Syphilis.  8vo. 

Scudamore  on  Gout.  8vo. 

Sillimans  Chemistry,  3  vols.  Svo. 

Smith  and  Tweedie  on  Fevers.  8vo. 

Smiths  Botanic  Physician,  evo. 

Surgeon  Dentist's  Manual.  18mo. 

Symes1  Surgery.  8vo. 

Snell  on  Teeth,  evo. 

«illiman's  Journal  of  Science  and  Art. 
8vo. 

Spurzheim's  Anatomy  of  the  Brain.  8vo. 

Spurzheim:s  Phrenology.  2  vols.  6vo. 

Spurzheim's  Physiognomy  applied  to 
Phrenolosrv.  8vo. 

Spinal  Axis,  The,  plate  coloured. 

Thomson  on  Inflammation.  8vo. 


Teale  on  Neuralgia.  8vo. 

Tate  on  Hysteria.  8vo. 

Thomson  on  Varioloid,  evo. 

Travers  on  the  Eye.  coloured  plates.   8vo. 

Thachers  Dispensatory.  8vo. 

Thacher's  Practice,  evo. 

Thomson's  Chemistry.  4  vols.  8vu. 

Tweedie  on  Fever,  g'vo. 

Tusou's  Dissector.  12mo. 

Ure's  Chemical  Dictionary.  2  vote.  8vo. 
Underwood  on  Diseases  of  Children.  8vo. 
United  States  Dispensatory,  evo. 
United  States  Pharmacoepia.  evo. 

Valpeau's  Anatomy.  2  vols.  evo. 
Valpeau's  Midwifery.  8vo. 

Webbs  Philosophy  of  Medicine.  8vo. 
Webster  on  Pestilence.   2  vols.  8vo. 
Wistar's  Anatomy.  2  vols.  8vo. 
Willan  on  the  Skin.  8vo. 
Webster's  Chemistry.  8vo. 
Williams  on  the  Lungs. 


PREXCH  MEDICAL  BOOKS. 


Adelon's  Physiologie  de  l'homme.  4  vols. 
8vo. 
Andral's  Clinique  Medicale.  5  vols.  8vo. 
Anglada's  Traite  des  Eaux  Minerales. 

Breschet  sur  le  Systeme  Vieneux.  folio, 
coloured  plates. 

Bourdon  sur  Respiration. 

Bouillard  sur  rEncephafite. 

Brouissais'  Examen.  4  vols. 

Brouissais'  Pathologic  2  vols. 

Brouissais-  Phlegmasia.  3  vols. 

Begins  Therapeutique.  2  vols. 

Begins  Physiologie.  2  vols. 

Bover's  Chirurgerie.  11  vols. 

Boisseatfs  Xosographie  Organique.  3  vols. 

Boisseau's  Pyretologie. 

Berzelius'  Chemie.  8vo. 

Blaud's  Physiologie.  2  vols. 

Brachat  sur  l'Opium.  8vo. 

Bousquet's  Traite  de  la  Vaccine.  8vo. 

Boivin  and  Buses  Traite  Pratique  de 
Maladies  de  l'Uterus.  2  large  vols,  and  atlas. 
$ 22  50. 

Calmiel's  Paralysie.  8vo. 

Cassan's  Cas  de  l'Uterus  double. 

Caffin's  Inductions  Physiologiques. 

Cruveilhier's  Anatomie  Pathologiques,  co- 
loured plates. 

Cabauis'  Rapports  du  Physique  et  Moral. 
2  vols. 

Chopart's  Maladies  des  Voies  Urinares. 
2  vols. 

Cabanis.  CEuvres  de,.  5  vols.  8vo. 

Des  Lonschamps  Flora  Gallica.  2  vols. 

Dictionaire  de  Chemie,  de  Mineralogie.  et 
deGeologie.  gvo. 

Desmoulins  et  Magendie  Anatomie  des 
Syatemee  Xerveux  des  Animaux  a  Verte- 
bres.  2  vols.  8vo. 


Ducamp,  Traite  des  Retentions  d'Urine. 
Svo. 

Dsrheim,  Histoire  des  Sanssues.  8vo. 

Dictionnaire  Abrege  des  Sciences  Medi- 
cales.  14  vols. 

Dictionnaire  des  Sciences  Medicales.  60 
vols.  8vo. 

***  A  few  Copies  of  this  valuable  work 
still  remain  on  hand,  which  will  be  supplied  at 
the  moderate  price  of  .^CO  per  set. 

Dictionnaire  des  Drogues,  par  Chevalier 
et  Richard.  3  vols.  evo. 

Dujac,  Theorie  Chimique  de  la  Caloricite. 
gvo. 

Dutrochet.  ML,  Recherches  sur  l'Endos- 
mose  et  l'Exosmose.  evo. 

Delpech.  J.,  de  1'Orthornorphie  par  Rap- 
port a  l'Espece  Humain.  2  vols.  Svo.  with 
4to.  atlas. 

Dupuy  et  Leuret  sur  Les  Effets  de  l'Ace- 
tate  de  Morphine,  evo. 

Dictionnaire,  Raisonee,  Etymologique, 
<fec.  des  Termes  usites  dans  les  Sciences 
Naturelles,  par  A.  L.  Jourdan.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Fouquet,  Essai  sur  les  Vesicatoires.  8vo. 
Price  38  cts 

Fouquet,  Essai  sur  le  Pouls.  Svo.  Price 
$1  13. 

Fourcault,  A.,  Lois  de  l'Organisme  Vi- 
vant,  ou  Application  des  lois  Physicochi- 
miqu'es  a  la  Phvsiologie.  2  vols.  8vo.  Price 
83  87. 

Guilbert.surlaGoutteetRhumatisme.  8vo. 

Georget.  Physiologie  du  Systeme  Xerveux. 
2  vols.  8vo. 

Gouas,  Xouveaux  Systeme  de  Chirurgie 
8vo. 

Guersent.  Essai  sur  les  Epizooties.  8vo. 

Gassicourt.  Formulaire  Magistral  et  Me< 
morial  Pharmaceutique. 


20 


Goupil,  J.  M.  A.,  Exposition  des  Princi- 
pes  de  la  Xouvelle  Doctrine  Medicale.  Svo. 

Gendrin.  A.  X-,  Histoire  Anatomique  des 
Inflammations.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Gama.  J  P.,  Traite  des  Plais  de  Tete  et 
de  rEnce-phalite. 

Gall.  D<xteur.  Precis  Analytique  et  Rai- 
sonee  du  System  de. 

Hoffbauer,  J.  C.;  Medicine  Legale  relative 
aux  Alienes.   B*o. 

Henry  sur  les  Instrumens  de  Chirurgie. 
Svo. 

Histoire  de  la  Medecine,  depuis  son  ori- 
ginejusqu'au  dix-neuvii'.-rne  skcle.  tra-duite 
de  TAllemand  de  Kurt  Spreijgel.  par  Jour- 
dan,  D.M.  P.  et  revue  par  Bosquillon.  9  vols. 
8vo. 

Jourdan,  A.  J.  L.;  Code  Pharmaeeutique, 
Svo. 

Lafont-Gouzi,  de  l'Etat  Present  des  Hom- 
ines considerees  sur  le  rapport  Medical. 
Svo. 

Latour,  D.,  Histoire  Philosophique  et 
Medicale  des  Hemmorhagies.  2  vols.  Price 
$3  25. 

Latreille.  M.,  Families  Xaturelles  du 
regne  Animal. 

Legallois.  CEuvres  de.  2  vols. 

Legallois.  M.,  Experiences  *ur  le  Prin- 
cipe de la  Vi  .   - 

Lerov.  J..  ProceJe  pour  guerirle  la  Pierre. 
8vo.      ' 

Lanthois.  M..  de  la  Phtbisie  Pulmonaire. 
Svo. 

Lisfranc.  J ,  des  Retrencissemens  de 
1'Urethre.  8vo. 

Lagneau,  L.  V.,  des  Maladies  Syphili 
liquei.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Louis,  Ch.  A..  Recherehes  Anatomico 
Patholojiq'ir-s    Svo. 

Louis.  Ch  A..  Recherehes  Anatomico 
Pathologic  n";=  >ur  la  Phthisie.  8vo. 

Les  Medecins  Francais  Contemporains 
Price  8 1  25. 

Lawrence.  W..  Traite  Pratique  des  Mala 
dies  des  Y      i 

Louis.  P.  Ch.  A.,  sur  la  Gastro  Enterite 
2  vols.     Price  $3  50. 

Marcus.  F.  A..  Essai  de  Therapeutique 
Specials.  Svo.     Price  SI  50. 

Magendie,  F  .  Pliysiologie.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Moulin.  E  .  Catheterisme  Rectilinque. 

Melanges  de  Chirurgie  Ltrangere,  par 
nne  Societe  de  Chirurgiens  de  Geneve.  2 
vols.  Svo. 

Mongf-Uas.  M.  sur  les  Fievres  Intermit- 
tentes.~Svo. 

Meckel,  J.  F.,  Manuel  d'Anatomie  Ge- 
nerates Descriptive  et  Pathologique.  3  vols. 
Svo. 


Merat  et  Len*s  Dictionnaire  de  Materie 
Medicale.  6  large  vols.  8vo. 

Ouvrard,  Meditations  sur  la  Chirurgie 
Pratique. 

Orfila,  M.  P.,  Secours  a  donner  aux 
personnes  empoisonnees  et  aephyxiees. 
Price  §1. 

Prus,  V.,  de  l'Irritation  et  de  la  Phlegma- 
sie.  8vo. 

Portal.  M..  Observations  sur  la  Nature 
et  le  traitement  de  l'hvdropisie.  2  vols. 
5vo. 

Prout.  W. .  Traite  de  la  Gravelle  du  Calcul 
Vesical,  cvo. 

Planches  Anatomiques  a  Pusage  des 
Jeunes  Gens  que  se  destinent  a  l'etude  de 
la  Chirurgie.  de  la  Medicine,  de  la  Peinture, 
et  de  la  Sculpture.  1  vol.  4to. 

Piorry.  P.  A.,  de  la  Percussion  Mediate 
dans  les  Maladies  Thoraciques  et  Abdomi- 
naux.  cvo. 

Prus.  Rene,  sur  le  du  Cancer  de  l'Esto- 
mac.  cvo. 

Regnault,  E.,  sur  la  Monomanie.  Svo. 

Roche  et  Sanson,  Xouveaux  Elemens  de 
Pathologie  Medico-fchiruraicale.  5  vols.  Svo. 

Roche  et  Sanson,  Xouveaux  Elemens  de 
Pathologie  Medico-Chirurgicale. 

Robert,  M.,  Recherehes  et  Considera- 
tions critiques  sur  le  Maguetisme  Animal. 
8vo. 

Rayer,  P.,  Maladies  de  la  Peau,  plates. 
3  vols  Svo. 

Richard,  M.  Achille,  Elemens  d'Histoire 
Xaturelle  Medicale.  2  vols. 

Raspails  Chimie  Organique.  Svo. 

Saissy  sur  les  Maladies  de  l'Oreille.  Svo. 

Scarpa.  A..  Traite  Practique  des  Hernies, 
traduit  par  M   Cayol.   1  vol.  and  atlas. 

Serre.  ML,  Traite  de  la  Reunion  imme- 
diate et  de  son  influence  sur  les  progrea 
reeens  de  la  Chirurgie  dans  toutes  les  opera- 
tions   Svo. 

Sedillot.  C,  Manuel  Complet  de  Medicine 
Legale. 

Tavernier.  A..  Manuel  fle  Therapeutique 
Chirurgicale.  2  vols. 

Tanchon.  S  .  Xouvelle  Methode  pour  de- 
truire  la  Pierre  dans  la  vessil  sans  opera- 
tion Sanglante. 

Travernier,  A.,  Manuel  de  Clinique  Chi- 
rurgicale. 

Tiedemann's  Physiologic  2  vols  Svo. 

Velpeau,  Traite  de  l'Art  des  Accouche- 
mens.  2  vols.  evo. 

Weller.  D  .  Traite  des  Maladies  de  Yeux 
2  vols.  Svo, 


21 


AMERICAN    EDITIONS MISCELLANEOUS. 


Artist's  Manual.   2  vols.  8vo. 

Art  of  Flower  Painting.  Svo. 

American  Annual  Register.  5  vols.  Svo. 

American  State  Papers,  (Waite's.,  12  vols. 
8vo. 

American  Constitution.  ISino. 

Anatomy  of  Drunkenness,  (McNisJL) 
18mo. 

Adventures  of  a  Young  Rifleman.  12mo. 

Atlantic  Souvenir,  182o  to  1632.  18mo. 

Annals  of  the  Peninsular  Campaigns,  by 
author  of  "Cyril  Thornton.''  3  vols.  L2mo. 
maps,  &i.c. 

American  Ornithology,  by  Wilson.  3  vols. 
Svo.  and  4to.  coloured  plates. 

American  Ornithology,  by  C.  Bonaparte. 
4  vols,  royal  4to. 

Abercrombie  on  the  Intellectual  Powers. 
ISmo. 

Abercrombie's  Philosophy  of  Moral  Feel- 
ings. 18mo. 

Anquetil?  Universal  History.  9  vols.  Svo. 

Abbot's  Li  tters  from  Cuba.  Svo. 

Atlantis,  by  the  author  of  "Guy  Rivers." 
8vo. 

Arago,  M.,  on  Comets,  translated  by  Fa- 
rar.  12mo. 

Annals  of  Tryon  County,  or  the  Border 
Warfare  of  New  York.  Svo. 

Annual  Retrospect  of  Public  Affairs.  2 
vols.  12mo. 

Aiken's,  Dr..  Select  Works  of  the  British 
Poets,  cvu. 

Annals  of  Yale  College,  from  its  founda- 
tion to  1831.  8vo. 

Aurora  Borealis,  or  Flashes  of  Wit.  ISino. 

Burke's,  E.,  Works,  complete   in   3  vols, 
small  cvo. 
Seattle's  Minstrel.  18mo. 
Brown's  Philosophy.  2  vols.  8vo. 
British  Spy,  by  Wirt.  18mo. 
Baker's  Livy.  6  vols.  Svo. 
Byron's  Poetical  and  Prose  Works.    1  vol. 
8vo. 

Byron's  Poetical  Works.  1  vol.  Svo. 
Byron's  Poetical  Works.  8  vols.  32mo. 
Bewick's  Birds.  Svo. 

Buchanan's  History  of  the  Indians.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

Bel-mazzar,  by  Millman.   ISmo. 

Blair's  Lectures.  Svo. 

Blair's  Lectures,  abridged.  ISmo. 

Buck's  Theological  Dictionary.  8vo.     " 

Buck  on  Experience.  12mo. 

Brougham's,  Chancellor,  Speech  on  the 
Present  State  of  the  Laws.  8vo. 

Bausset's  Anecdotes  of  Napoleon.  Svo. 

Brown's  History  of  Missions.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Butterworth's  Concordance.  4to. 

Butler's  Analogy.  12mo. 

Benedict  on  the  Baptists.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Brown's  Body  of  Divinity. 

Bennett's  Letters.  ISmo. 

Burn's  Poems.  2  vols.  18mo. 

Burn's  Poems.  1  vol.  Svo. 

Botta's  History  of  Italy.  8vo. 


Botta's  America,  bv  Otis.  2  vol?.  8vo. 

Baylie's  History  of  Plymouth.  2  vols.  8ve. 

Bancroft  on  Colours.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Bayard  on  the  Constitution.  l2mo. 

Bridgewater  Treatises.  12mo. 
Chalmers  on  Man. 
Kidd  on  Man. 
Whewhell's  Mechanics. 
Bell  on  the  Hand. 

Babbage's,  C.  Economy  of  Machinery. 
12mo. 

Baillie's,  Joanna,  Complete  Works.  1  vol. 
8vo. 

Book  of  the  Seasons,  by  Howitt.  12mo. 

Burns',  John,  Principles  of  Christian  Phi- 
losophy. 12mo. 

Butler's  Ancient  Geography.  Svo. 

Butler's  Atlas  to  the  Ancient  Geography. 
Svo. 

Brewster's,  Dr.,  Edinburg  Encyclopedia, 
complete  in  18  vols.  4to. 

Bancroft's,  George,  History  of  the  United 
States.  Svo. 

Benthanv's,  Jeremy,  Principles  of  Legisla- 
tion. Svo. 

Blake's,  J.  L.,  Encyclopedia  of  Useful 
Knowledge  and  General  Literature.  Svo. 

Brackenridge's,  H.  M.,  Recollections  of 
the  West.  12mo. 

Barber's  Grammar  of  Elocution.  12mo. 

Blue  Book,  The.  12mo. 

Bush's,  G.,  Treatise  on  the  Millennium. 
12mo. 

British  Drama,  The,  a  collection  of  Tra- 
gedies, Comedies,  Operas,  and  Farces.  2 
vols.  Svo. 

Bonaparte's  Voyage  to  St.  Helena,  by  Sir 
G.  Cockburn.   12nio. 

Belknap's.  Jeremy,  History  of  Xew  Hamp- 
shire, new  edition.  1  vol.  Svo. 

Brown's.  J.  D..  Sylvia  Americana.  Svo. 

Bell,  John,  on  Baths  and  Mineral  Waters. 
12mo. 

Bernard's  Retrospections  of  the  Stage.  2 
vols.  12mo. 

Buck's  Religious  Anecdotes.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Buffon's  Natural  History,  plates.  4  vola, 
ISmo. 

Cowper's  Poems.    3  vols.  ISmo. 

Cow  per  and  Thomson's  Poetical  Works 
Svo. 

Cowper's  Task.  ISmo. 

Citizen  of  the  World.  2  vols.  ISmo. 

Campbell's  Rhetoric.  Svo. 

Chesterfields  Letters.  3  vols.  ISmo. 

Chesterfield's  Letters.  1  vol.  Svo. 

Curiosities  of  Literature.  (DTsraeli.)  1st 
series.  3  vols.  12mo.  ,.<«*, 

Curiosities  of  Literature,  (DTsraeli.)  2d 
series.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Chapman's  Tables  of  Interest.  4to. 

Cicero  on  old  Age.  Svo. 

Clarendon's  History  of  the  Rebellion.  6 
vols.  8vo.  _       .     . 

Coleridge,    Shelly,  and    Keat's    Poetical 

Wnrks.    Svo 


22 


Chalmer's  Works.  3  vols.  12mo. 
Chalmer's  Discourses.  12mo. 
Chalmers  Political  Economy.  12mo. 
Campbell  on  the  Gospels.  4  vols.  8vo. 
Carey's,  M ,  Olive  Branch    8vo. 
Carey's,  M.,  Vindiciae  Hibernics.  8vo. 
Carey's,  M.,  Political  Economy.  8vo. 
Carey's.  M.,  Miscellanies.  8vo. 
Christmas  Tales.  18mo. 
Conversations  with  Lord  Byron  on  Reli- 
gion.  12mo. 
Christian  Year,  (Kebble.)  12mo. 
Coleridge's,    H.    N..    Introduction    to   the 
Study  of  the  Greek  Classics.  12mo. 
Crabbe's  English  Synonymes.  8vo. 
Cobbett's,   William,   Paper  versus   Gold. 
18mo. 

Cobbett's,    William,    English    Grammar. 
18mo. 

Cobbett's,    William,    French    Grammar. 
18mo. 

Cobbett's,    William,    Cottage    Economy. 
18mo. 

Cobbett's,   William,    History  of  the   Re- 
formation. 18mo. 

Cobbett's,     William,    Advice    to    Young 
Men.  J8mo. 

Crabbe's,  George,  Dictionary  of  General 
Knowledge.  12mo. 

Cooper's,  J.F.,  Travelling  Bachelor.  2  vols. 
8yo. 
Cooper's,  Judge,  Political  Economy.  8vo. 
Chatham,  Burke,  and  Erskine's  celebrated 
Speeches.  8vo. 

Combe's,  George.  Lectures  on  Education. 
12mo.  « 

Cooper's,  J.  F.,  Letter  to  his  Countrymen. 
8vo. 
Child  at  Home,  The,  by  Abbott.  12mo. 
Chambers'   History  of  the   Rebellion  in 
Scotland.  12mo. 

Colman's,  George.  Broad  Grins.  18mo. 
Cushing's,  C,  Reminiscences  of  Spain.    2 
vols.  8vo. 

Christ   our    Example,   by   Caroline    Fry. 
18mo. 

Cleaveland's,  A.  B.,  Studies  in  Poetry  and 
Prose.  12mo. 

Calmet's  Dictionary  of  the  Holy  Bible,  in 
1  vol.  containing  1003  pages.  8vo. 
Casper  Hauser.  Account  of.   12mo. 
Campbell's,  T.,  Complete  Poetical  Works. 
18mo. 

Cook's  Own  Book,  being  a  Culinary  En- 
cyclopedia. 12mo. 

Clerk's   Magazine,   contain' ng    the   most 
useful  Forms  which  occur  in  Business.  12mo. 
Caricature  Scrap  Book,  consisting  of  Ori- 
ginal and  Humorous  Designs. 
Coleridge's.  S.  T.,  Friend.  8vo. 
Coleridge's,  S.  T.,  Aids  to  Reflection.  8vo. 
Collections  of  the  Maine  Historical  Socie- 
ty. 8vo. 

Crowe's,  E.  E.,  History  of  France.   3  vols, 
lfemo. 

Cousin's  Introduction  to  the  History  of 
Philosophy.  8vo. 

Channi  rig's.  W.  E.,  Discourses,  Reviews, 
and  Miscellanies.  8vo. 

Channing's,  W.  E.,  Discourses,  Reviews, 
and  Miscfllanies.  2d  series.  12mo. 
Comstock's  Natural  Philosophy.  12mo. 


Collingwood's, 
8vo. 


Lord,      Correspondence. 


Dick's  Christian  Philosopher.    12mo. 
Dick's  Philosophy  of  a  Future  State.  12mo. 
Dick  on  Religion.   12mo. 
Dick  on  Diffusion  of  Knowledge.   18mo. 
Domestic  Encyclopedia,  (Willich's.)  3  vois. 
8vo. 

Debates  in  the  Virginia  Convention.  8vo. 
Debates   in  the   New  York  Convention. 
8vo. 

Debates  in  Congress,  (Elliott's.)    4  vols. 
8vo. 

Don  Juan.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Dryden's  Virgil.  2  vols.  18mo. 

Dallas'  Letters  of  Lord  Byron.  12mo. 

Dtinlop's  Historv  of  Roman  Literature. 
2  vols.  8vo. 

Dibdin's  Reminiscences.  8vo. 

Darby's  General  Gazetteer.  8vo. 

Darby  and  Dwight's  American  Gazetteer. 
8vo. 

Darby's  View  of  the  United  States.  18mo. 

Domestic    Cookery.  18mo. 

Diplomacy  of  the  United  States,  (Ly- 
man's.) 2  vols.  8vo. 

Death-bed  Scenes,  (Warton's.)  8vo 

Dwight's  Theology.  4  vols   8vo. 

Dwight's  Decisions.  12mo. 

Diichess  de  Berri  in  La  Vendee.  18mo. 

Donnegan's  Greek  and  English  Lexicon. 
8vo. 

Donnegan's  Greek  and  English  Lexicon, 
large  18mo. 

Dunlap's  History  of  the  American  Stage. 
8vo. 

Downing's,  Jack,  Letters  to  Dwight. 
12mo. 

Dwight's,  Thomas,  History  of  the  Hartford 
Convention.  8vo. 

D'Haussez's,  Baron,  Great  Britain. 12  vols. 
12m  o. 

District,  The,  School.  12mo. 

Davenport's,  Bishop,  New  Gazetteer  of 
the  United  States.  8vo. 

Depping's  Evening  Entertainments.  12mo. 

Dana's.  R.  H.,  Poems  and  Prose  Wri- 
tings. 8vo. 

Daughter's  Own  Book.  18mo. 

Dermot  Mac  Murrough,  a  poem,  by  J.  Q. 
Adams.  8vo. 

Diplomatic  Correspondence  of  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution,  by  Jared  Sparks,  in  12  vols. 
8vo. 

Edinburg  Review,  complete.  8vo. 

Endless  Amusement.  18mo. 

Everett,  A.,  on  Population.  8vo. 

Everett's,  A.,  America.  8vo. 

Everett's,  A.,  Europe.  8vo. 

Edgeworth's  Works,  complete.  13  vols. 
8vo. 

Eber's  History  of  the  King's  Theatre. 
12mo. 

Elegant  Extracts.  12  vols.  8vo. 

Edward's  West  India.  4  vols.  8vo.  and 
atlas. 

Encyclopedia  Americana,  edited  by 
Dr.  Leiber,  complete  in  13  vols.  8vo. 

England  and  the  English,  by  Bulwer, 
yola.  12mo, 


23 


England  and  America,  a  comparison  of 
the  Social  and  Political  State  of  both  Na- 
tions. Svo. 

Essays  on  the  Pursuit  of  Truth.  12mo. 

Essays  on  the  Formation  of  Opinion. 
12mo. 

Franklin's.  Dr..  Works.  6  vols.  Svo. 

Franklin's.  Dr.  Essays.   -2  vols.  l;mo. 

Franklin.  Dr..  Life  o£  12mo. 

Franklin's.  Dr..  Familiar  Letters.   ISmo. 

Federalist.  The.  12mo. 

Francis'  Horace.  2  vols.  l?mo. 

Faber  on  the  Prophecies.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Flint's  Geography.  Svo. 

Flint's  Valley  of  the  Mississippi.  Svo. 

navel's  Works.  S  vols   - 

Fielding's,  Henry,  Works.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Family    Library.    The.    embracing    the 

following  works,  in  l?ino.  with  plates.  <fcx. 

lfoa  1.  2.  3.  containing  Millman's  History 
of  the  Jews — 1.  5.  Lockharfs  L: 
poleon  Bonaparte. — 6.  Southey's  Life  of 
Nelson. — T.  Williams"  Life  of  Alexander 
the  Great.— ?.  Natural  History  of  Insects. 
—9.  Gait's  Life  of  Lord  Byron.— 10.  Bush's 
Life  of  Mohammed.— 11.  Scott's  Letters 
on  Demonologv  and  Witchcraft. — 12.  13 
Gleig's  History  of  th^  Bible.— 14.  Disco- 
very" and  Adventure  in  the  Polar  Seas. 
&c,  by  Professor  Leslie.  Professor  Jame- 
son, arid  Hush  Murray,  Esq. — 15.  Croly's 
Life  of  George  the  Fourth.— 16.  Discovery 
and  Adventure  in  Africa,  by  Professor 
Jameson.  James  Wilson.  Esq  .  and  Hugh 
Murray.  Esq.— 17.  IS.  19.  Cunningham  s 
Lives  of  Eminent  Painters  and  "Sculp- 
tors.— 20.  James'  Historv  of  Chivalrv  and 
the  Crusaies  — 21.  22.  Roll's  Life  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots.— 23  Russell's  Ancient 
and  Modern  Egypt  —24.  Fletcher's  His- 
tory of  Poland"— 25.  Smith's  Festivals. 
Games,  and  Amusements. — 20.  Brew- 
ster's Life  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton. — 27.  Rus- 
sell's History  of  Palestine,  or  the  Holy 
Land. — 2-?.  Sleme's  Memoirs  of  the  Em- 
press Josephine. — 23.  The  Court  and 
Camp  of  Bonaparte. — 30.  Lives  of  Early 
Navigators— 31.  A  Description  of  Pit- 
cairn's  Island.  &c— 32.  Turner's  Sacred 
History  of  the  World.— 33.  34.  Mrs.  Jame- 
son's Memoirs  of  Celebrated  Female 
Sovereigns.— 35.  30.  Lander's  Africa— 37. 
Abercrombie  on  the  Intellectual  Powers. 
&c— 36.  39.  40.  St.  John's  Lives  of  Cele- 
brated Travellers. — 11.  42.  Lord  Dover's 
Life  of  Frederick  II  King  of  Prussia  — 
43.  44.  Sketches  from  Venetian  History. 
— 15.  #6.  Thatcher's  Indian  Biographv. — 
47.  4-.  40.  History  of  India.— 50.  Brew- 
ster's Letters  on  S'atural  Magic. — 51.  52. 
Taylor's  History  of  Ireland. — 53.  Discove- 
ries on  the  Northern  Coasts  of  America. 
—54.  Humboldt's  Travels.— 55.  .56.  Euler's 
Letters  on  Natural  Philosophy.— 57.  Ma- 
die's  Guide  to  the  Observation  of  Nat  ire. 
— SB.  Abercrombie  on  the  Philosophy  of 
the  Moral  Feelings— 50.  Dick  on  *  the 
Improvement  of  Societv. — 60.  Jamf-s'  His- 
tory of  Charlemagne.-"^1.  Russell's  His- 
tory of  Nubia  and  Abvssinia— 62.  63.  Rus- 
sell's  Life  of  Oliver  Cromwell.— 64,  65. 


Cunningham's  Lives  of  Eminent  Paint- 
ers. <fcc.  vols.  4  <t  5. 

Classical  Series,  -r  Nos.  1,  2.  containing 
Xenophon,  (Anabasis  and  Cyrop*dia.) — 
3.  4.  Lelarxl's  Demosthenes*. — 5.  Rose's- 
Sallust.— 6.  7.  Ca?sar"s  Commentaries.— 
S,  9.  10.  Cicero's  Orations.  Offices  tc. 

Dramatic  Series.— I.  2,   3,  containing  Mas- 
singer's  Plays. — 1.  5.  Ford's  Plays. 
Family  at  Home,  by  Abbott.   12mO; 
Florist's  Manual,  by  Bourne.  Svo. 
Fanaticism.  12mo. 
Fuller's.  Rev.  A.,  Complete  Works.  2  vol?. 

Svo. 

Fidler's.  Isaac.  Observations  on  Profes- 
sions.   Literature,    and    Manners,    in    the 

United  States.  12mo. 
Family  Cabinet  Atlas.  12mo. 
Flint's    Lectures    on    Natural    History 

12mo. 
Follen's  German  Grammar.  12mo. 
Flora's  Dictionary,  by  a  Lady.  4to. 
Fletcher's  History  of  Poland."  ISmo. 
Faber.  George,  on  the  Difficulties  of  InnV 

delity.   12mo. 

Goldsmith's,.  Oliver.  Works.  Svo. 

Goldsmith's.  Oliver.  Animated  Nature 
4  vols.  Svo. 

Goldsmith's.  Oliver    E=says.  ISmo. 

Goldsmith's,  Oliver.  Rome.  12mo. 

Goldsmith's.  Oliver,  Greece.  12mo. 

Gibbon's  Rome.  4  vols.  ^vo. 

Grimshaw's.  William.  History  of  Napo- 
leon. 12mo. 

Grimshaw's,  William.  History  of  France. 
12m  o. 

Grimshaw's,  William.  History  of  the 
United  States.   12mo. 

Godman's,  J.  D..  Natural  History.  3  vols, 
Svo. 

Godman's.  J.  D.,  Addresses.  Svo. 

Gallatin.  Albert,  on  Currency  and  Bank- 
ing. Svo. 

Gleanings  in  Natural  History,  by  Jesse. 
ISmo. 

Good's.  John  M..  Book  of  Nature.  Svo. 

Grattan's,  T.  C.  History  of  the  Nether- 
lands, limn. 

Graglia's  Italian  and  English  Dictionary. 
ISmo." 

Goddard's.  T.  H..  History  of  Bank?    Svo. 

Gouge.  W.  M  .  History  of  Paper  Money 
and  Banking  in  the  United  States.  12mo. 

German  Dramas.from  Schiller  and  Goethe, 
for  the  use  of  persons  learning  the  German. 
12mo. 

Gould's,  Miss  H.  F  .  Poems.   ISmo. 

Grove's  Greek  and  English  Lexicon.   Svo. 

Gordon's,  T.  F.,  History  of  America.  2 
vols.  12mo. 

Geographical  Present.  The,  being  a  De- 
scription of  the  Principal  Countries  of  the 
World.  Krno. 

Gordon's.  T  F..  History  of  Pennsylvania. 
Svo. 

Howe's.  Dr..  History  of  the  Greek  Revo, 
lution.  Svo. 

Heber's.  Bishop,  Poems.  ISmo. 

Hume,  Smollett,  and  Bissett's  England. 
9  vols.  Svo. 


24 


Homilies  of  the  Church  of  England.  8vo. 

Hume,  Smollett,  and  Millers  England. 
4  vols.  8vo. 

Hallam's,  H.,  History  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
2  vols.  8vo. 

Hallam's,  H.,  Constitutional  History.  3 
vols.  8vo. 

Home's  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  the 
Scriptures.  4  vols.  8vo 

Hall's,  Rev.  Robert,  Works,  by  O.  Grego- 
ry. 3vo4s.8vo. 

Heeren's  Greece.  8vo. 

Hall's,  James,  Sketches  of  History,  Life 
and  Manners  in  the  West.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Hovvitt's  History  of  Priestcraft.   12mo. 

Humorist's  Own  Book.  24mo. 

History  of  the  Florentine  Republic,  by  L. 
Da  Ponte.  2  vols. 

Hibbert  and  Buists  American  Flower 
Garden  Directory.  8vo. 

History  of  Switzerland,  by  Grattan.  ]2mo. 

History  of  Spain  and  Portugal.  5  vols. 
J2mo. 

Hordynski's  History  of  the  Polish  Revolu- 
tion. 8vo. 

History  of  Ancient  and  Modern  Greece, 
edited  by  J.  Frost.  8vo. 

Howitt's,  William,  Book  of  the  Seasons. 
12mo. 

Hemans,  Heber,  and  Pollock's  Poetical 
Works.    8vo. 

Horse,  The,  in  all  his  Varieties  and  Uses, 
by  Lawrence.  12mo. 

Haliburton's  Historical  and  Descriptive 
Account  of  Nova  Scotia.  8vo. 

Heman's,  Mrs.,  Poetical  Works.  2  vols. 
8vo. 

Holmes',  A.,  Annals  of  America.  2  vols. 
8vo. 

Journey  round  my  Room.  12mo. 

Johnson's,  Dr.,  Works.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Johnson's,  Dr.,  Dictionary.  2  vols.  4to. 

Johnson's,  Dr.,  Dictionary.  4  vols.  8vo. 

Johnson  and  Walker's"  Dictionary,  by 
Todd.  8vo. 

Internal  Navigation  of  the  United  States. 

John  Bull  in  America,  by  Paulding.  ]2tno. 

Jefferson's,  Thomas,  Parliamentary  Ma- 
nual. 12mo. 

Jefferson's,  Thomas,  Notes  on  Virginia. 
12mo. 

Irving's,  E.,  Orations.  8vo. 

Irving's,  W.,  Knickerbocker's.  New  York. 
2  vols.  12mo. 

Irving's,  W.,  Sketch  Book.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Irving's,  W.,  Bracebridbe  Hall.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

Irving's,  W.,  Tales  of  a  Traveller.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

Irving's,  W.,  Conquest  of  Grenada.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

Irving's,  W.,  Alhambra.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Irving's,  W.,  Columbus.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Irving's,  W.,  Companions  of  Columbus. 
2  vols.  12mo. 

Jahn's  History  of  the  Hebrew  Common- 
wealth. 8vo. 

Jahn's  Gymnastics.  Rvo. 

Journal  of  a  Naturalist.  12mo. 

Iliad  of  Homer,  from  the  text  of  Wolfe, 
with  illustrations,  by  Flaxman.  8vo. 


Mrs.,  Beauties  of   the  Cour 

8vo. 

Mrs.,  Diary  of   an  Ennuyee 


Jameson's,  Mrs.,  Characteristics  of  Wo 
men.  12mo. 

Jameson's, 
of  Charles  II. 

Jameson's, 
18mo. 

Jameson's,  Mrs.,  Visits  and  Sketches  a 
Home  and  Abroad.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Jameson's,  Mrs.,  Memoirs  of  the  Love 
of  the  Poets.  2  vols,  lfimo. 

Journal  of  a  Nobleman,  being  a  Narrativ 
of  his  Residence  in  Vienna  during  the  Cor 
gress.  l8mo. 

Jesse's,  Edward,  Gleanings  in  Nature 
History.  18mo. 

James',  G.  R.  P.,  History  of  Chivalry  an 
the  Crusades.  ISmo. 

Kelly's,  M.,  Reminiscences.  8vo. 
Knowledge  for  the  People,,  or  the  Flail 
Why  and  Because.  3  vols.  18mo. 

Lempriere's  Biographical   Dictionary, 
vols.  8vo. 

Lempriere's  Classical  Dictionary,  by  An 
thon.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Lempriere's  Classical  Dictionary.  8vo. 

Locke's  Essays.  8vo. 

Las  Casas'  Journal.  4  vols.  8vo. 

Loves  of  the  Angels,  by  T.  Moore.  18mo, 

Loves  of  the  Poets,  by  Mrs.  Jameson. 
vols.  18mo. 

Lewis  on  Chess.  12mo. 

Lingard's  England,  complete  in  14  vols 
8vo. 

Lorain's  Husbandry    8vo. 

Laconics,  or  many" Things  in  few  Words 
3  vols.  18mo. 

Lalla  Rookh.  JPmo. 

Londonderry's,  Lord,  Narrative  of  th 
War  in  Germany,  Spain,  &c    12mo. 

Lardner's  Cabinet  Cyclopedia.  22  vols 
12mo. 

Library  of  Entertaining  Knowledge,  li 
vols.  18mo.  plates. 

Library  of  American  Biography,  editei 
by  Jared  Sparks.  12mo. 

Levison's,  J.  L.,  Mental  Culture.  12mo. 

Library  of  old  English  Prose  Writers 
9  vols.  12mo. 

Letters  of  Horace  Walpole,  by  Lord  Dover 
2  vols.  8vo, 

Leslie's,  Miss,  Domestic  French  Cookery 
12mo.     - 

Leslie's,  Miss,  75  Receipts.  ]2mo. 

Legislative  and  Documentary  History  of 
the  Bank  of  the  United  States.  "8vo. 

Lacon,  or  many  Things  in  few  Words.  S 
vols. 

Lawrence's CompleteCattle  Keeper.  ]2mo 
Leighton's,  Archbishop,  Select  Works,  b\ 
Cheever.  8vo. 

Lessons  on  Things.  18mo. 
Lord's  Principles  of  Banking.  12mo. 
Lowth's  Lectures  on   the  Sacred  Poetry 
of  the  Hebrews.  8vo. 

Moore's,  Thomas,  Poetical  Works.  1  vol. 
8vo. 

Moore's,  Thomas,  Irish  Gentleman  in 
Search  of  Religion.   18mo. 

Moore's,  Thomas,  Melodies.    18mo. 


—  ^  -  ^ 


25 


Marshall's  Washington,  new  edition.  2 
vols,  and  atlas. 

Marraion.  by  Scott.  ISmo. 

McVicar's  Political  Economy.  Svo. 

Masonic.  The.  Chart.  12mo. 

Murphy's  Tacitus.  6  vols.  Svo. 

Milton's  Poetical  Works,  by  Mitford.  2 
vols,  roval  Svo. 

Milton's  Poetical  Works,  by  Mitford.  2 
vols,  small  ?to. 

Milton's  Paradise  Lost.  ISino. 

Milton's  Paradise  Lost  and  Regained. 
ISmo. 

Milton  on  the  Christian  Doctrine.  2  vols. 
Svo. 

Mill's  Crusades.  Svo. 

Mill's  Chivalry.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Mather's.  C  .  Ma^nalia.  S  vols.  6vo. 

Marshall's,  Judge,  History  of  the  Colonies. 
Svo. 

Mignet's  History  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion. ~8vo. 

Montgomery's,  James,  Poems.    4  v.  ISmo. 

Malthus  on  Population.  2  vols   Bvo. 

Malthus'  Political  Economy.  I  vo. 

Magee  on  the  Atonement.  2  vols.  cvo. 

Mav.es  Historv  of  Brazil.  Svo. 

Mcintosh's,  Sir  J.,  History  of  Ethical  Philo- 
sophy. 8vo. 

Mcintosh's,  Sir  J.,  England.  3  vols.  ISmo. 

Mcintosh's  England.  Svo. 

Madden's,  Dr.,~ Infirmities  of  G-enius.  2 
vols.  12mo. 

Marbois:,  Barbe,  Historv  of  Louisiana. 
Svo. 

Malte  Brun's  Universal  Geography.  6  vols. 
Svo. 

Malte  Brun's  Universal  Geography,  Bos- 
ton edition.  8  vols.  8vo. 

Mores.  Hannah,  Works.  2 vols.  8vo. 

Martineau's,  Miss,  Illusi  rations  of  Politi- 
cal Economv.  ISmo. 

Mother.  The.  at  Home,  bv  J.  C.  Abbot. 
12  mo. 

Mosheim's  Ecclesiastical  History 

Mariner's  Library,  or  Voyager's  Compa- 
nion. 12mo. 

Mahler's  Universal  History.  12mo. 

Mowbray,  B  ,  on  Breeding  Poultry.  Cows, 
and  Swine.  12mo. 

Heme's,  J.  S  .  History  of  Painting,  Sculp- 
ture, and  Architecture."  12mo. 

Millman's  History  of  the  Jews.  3  vols. 
18mo. 

McCullochs.  J.  H..  Philosophical  Re- 
searches concerning  the  Aboriginal  His- 
tory of  America.  Svo. 

Milton's  Familiar  Letters,  translated  bv 
John  Hall. 

Nuttall's  American  Ornithology.  2  vols 
large  18mo. 

Neuman  and  Baretti's  Spanish  and  Eng- 
lish Dictionary.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Xeuman  and  Baretti's  Spanish  and  Eng- 
lish Dictionary,  abridged.  24mo. 

National  Calendar,  by  P.  Foree,  published 
annually.  12mo. 

Natural  History  of  Enthusiasm.  12mo. 

O'Keefe's  Recollections.  8vo. 
Ouslev's  Statistics  of  America.  Svo, 
C 


Paley's,  Rev.  Dr..  Complete  Works.  1vol. 
Bvo. 

Palev  s.  Rev.  Dr..  Complete  Works,  a  vols. 
24mo. 

Paley's.  Rev.  Dr..  Evidences.  12mo. 

Paley's.  Rev  Dr.!  Philosophy.  8vo.  « 

Philidor  on  Chess.  12mo. 

Pickering's.  Timothy.  Review.  8vo. 

Pickering's.  Timothy.  History  of  the 
United  States.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Pickering's,  Timothy.  Statistics,  bvo. 

Philosophy  in  Sport  made  Science  in  Ear- 
nest. 2  vols.  18mo. 

Practical  Education,  by  Maria  Edgeworth. 
2  vols   Bvo. 

Porter's.  Commodore.  Journal.  2  vols.  Bvo 

Picture  of  Philadelphia,  with  map.   ISmo 

Pollock's  Course  of  Time.  ISmo. 

Plutarch's  Lives.  1  vol.  Svo. 

Plutarch  s  Lives.  4  vols.  8vo. 

Peele's.  R  ,  Notes  on  Italy.  Svo. 
'    Penitentiary  System  of  the  United  States. 
by  Dp  Beaumont  and  de  Todqaeville,  trans- 
lated by  Dr.  Leiber.  Svo. 

Porter,  G.  R  ,  on  the  Culture  of  the  Sugar 
Cane.  E 

Philosophy  of  Sleep,  by  McNish.  12mo. 

Principles  of  the  Art  of  Horsemanship. 
ISmo. 

Pictures  of  Private  Life,  by  Sarah  Stick- 
nev.  1st  and  2d  series    2  vols. 

Premium,  The.,  a  Present  for  all  Seasons. 
24mo. 

P-rcy.  The.  Anecdotes,  in  1  vol.  Svo. 

Prince.  R..  on  the  Vine.  Bvo. 

Prince's,  R..  Poniological  Manual. 

Pope's  Poetical  Works.  1  vol.  Svo. 

Pope's  Poetical  Works    2  vols.  18mo. 

Parke's,  Mrs.,  Domestic  Duties.  12mo. 

Quotations  from  the  British  Poets,  by 
Addington.  4  vols.  12mo. 

Raymond's  Political  Economy.  Svo 

Ramsay's.  Dr..  Universal  History.  12  vols 
Svo. 

Rambler.   4  vols.  ISmo 

Rome  in  the  Nineteenth  Century.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

Rawle  on  the  Constitution.  Svo. 

Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetrv.  3  vols.  6vo 

Robertson's.  Dr..  Works.  3  vols.  Svo. 

Rowlett's  Tables  of  Interest.  4to 

Rollins  Ancient  History.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Rollin's  Ancient  History.  4  vols    - 

Rollin's  Ancient  History.   8  vols.  ISmo. 

Recollections  of  Mirabeau,  by  Dumont. 
Svo. 

Records  of  My  Life,  by  John  Taylor.  Svo. 

Randolph's.  John.  Letters  to  his' Nephew. 
8vo. 

Rush's.  James,  Philosophy  of  the  Human 
Voice.  Svo. 

Russia,  its  History,  Geography,  and  To- 
pography. Svo. 

Rush's,  R  ,  Memoranda  of  a  Residence  at 
the  Court  of  London.  Svo. 

Rambles  of  a  Naturalist,  by  J.  D.  God 
man.  ISmo. 

Smith's,  Adam,  Wealth  of  Nations.  2  vols. 
8vo. 


26 


Smith's,  Adam,  Theory  of  Moral  Senti- 
ments. Svo. 

Stewart's,  Dugald,  Complete  Work*.  ? 
vols.  Svo. 

Stewart's.  Dugald.  Philosophy.  1  vol.  Svo. 

Say's  Political  Economy,  by  Biddle.  Svo. 

Spectator.   1  large  vol.  Svo. 

Spectator.  B  vols  12mo. 

Shakspeare.  IS  vols.  lOmo. 

Siiakspeare.  2  vols.  Svo.  fine  edition,  with 
plates. 

Skakspeare.  1  vol.  12mo. 

Stanhope's  Greece.  1  vol.  Svo. 

Scott's,  Sir  W.;  Poetical  Works.  1  vol. 
Svo. 

Scott's.  Sir  YV..  Miscellaneous  Prose 
Works.  6  vote.  12mo. 

Scott's,  Sir  W.;  Religious  Discourses. 
12mo. 

Scott's,  Sir  W,  History  of  Scotland.  2 
vols.  12rao. 

Specimens  of  the  American  Poets,  (Kel- 
tel's.)  3  vols.  12mo. 

Scott's  Commentary  on  the  Bible.  6  vols. 
8vo. 

Scott's  Commentary  on  the  Bible.  3  vols. 
Svo. 

Sismondi's  History  of  the  Literature  of 
the  South  of  Europe.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Sherwood's,  Mrs.,  Works,  complete,  new 
edition. 

Sherwood's,  Mrs.,  Lady  of  the  Manor. 
7  vols.  ISmo. 

Smollett's,  T.,  Works,  complete  in  2  vols. 
Svo. 

Salmonia,  by  Sir  H.  Davy.  ISmo. 

Smellie's  Philosophy,  by  Dr.  Ware. 

Shaler's  History  of  Algiers.  Svo. 

Sullivan's  Familiar  Letters  on  Public 
Characters.  Svo. 

Sprague's  Letters  to  a  Daughter.  12mo. 

Sketches  and  Eccentricities  of  D.  Crockett. 
ISmo. 

Sabaltern  in  America.   ISmo. 

Smith's,  J.  V.  S.,  Natural  History  of  the 
Tishes  of  Massachusetts.  12mo. 

Spurzheim's,  C.  View  of  the  Elementary 
Principles  of  Education.   12mo. 

SchlegePs,  A.  W..  Lectures  on  Dramatic 
Literature.  Svo. 

Sergeant.  John,  Select  Speeches  of.  Svo. 

Stone's,  W.  L.,  Letters  on  Masonry.  Svo. 

Bhakspeare'e  Seven  Ages. 

Speeches  of  Phillips,  Curran,  and  Grat- 
tan.  8vo. 

Sterne's.  L  ,  Works.  1  vol.  Svo. 

Songs  of  the  Affections,  by  Mrs.  Hemans. 
ISmo.  .«_'«. 

Selections  from  Fenelon,  with  a  Memoir 
of  his  Life,  12mo. 

Shoberl's  History  of  Turkey.  3  vols.  12mo. 
coloured  plates. 

Trumbull's  Works.  2  vols.  Svo. 


Tavlor's  Holv  Living  and  Dying.  12mo. 

Tutti  Frutti,  by  Prince  Puckler  Muskau. 
12mo. 

Turner's  Sacred  History  of  the  World. 
ISmo. 

Trollope's,  Mrs..  Domestic  Manners  of  the 
Americans.  12mo. 

Thatcher's,  B.  B,.  History  of  Plymouth. 
12mo. 

Tavlor's.  C.  B.,  Records  of  a  Good  Man's 
Life.  Svo. 

Tucker's,  A.,  Light  of  Nature.  4  vols. 
Svo. 

Text  Book  of  Popery,  by  A.  Cramp.  ISmo. 

Tanner's,  John,  Captivity  among  the 
Indians,  evo. 

Thacher,  James,  on  Bees.  12mo. 

Upham's  Lectures  on  Witchcraft.  ISmo. 
Upham's,  T  C.  Elements  of  Mental  Phi- 
losophy. 2  vols.  Svo. 

Verplanck's,  G.  C,  Evidences  of  the  Chris- 
tian Religion.  Svo. 

Volney  s  Ruins.  ISmo. 

Van  Halen's  Narrative  of  his  Imprison- 
ment. Svo. 

Vergagni's  Italian  Grammar.  12mo. 

Visions  of  duevedo.   ISmo. 

Virginia  Housewife,  by  Mrs.  Randolph. 
12mo.~ 

Walsh's.  R.,  Appeal.   Svo. 
Watson's  Annals  of  Philadelphia.  Svo. 
Watson's  Anecdotes  of  the  Olden  Time. 
12mo. 
White's    Natural    History    of   Sel borne. 

Wheaton's,  Henry,  History  of  the  North- 
men, or  Normans  and  Danes.  Svo. 

Wesley's,  Rev.  John,  Works.  10  vols. 
Svo. 

Wesley's,  Rev.  J.,  Miscellaneous  V\  orks. 
3  vo>s.  Svo. 

Willet  and  Smith's  Treatise  on  Natural 
Philosophv.  Svo. 

Wordsworth's.  W.,  Works.    4  vols.  12mo, 

Worcester's  Sketches.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Worcester's  Gazetteer.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Whately's  Rhetoric.  12mo. 

Whately's  Logic.  12mo. 

Williamson's  History  of  the  State  of 
Maine.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Working  Man's  Companion.  3  Nos. 

Willard's.  Emma,  History  of  the  United 
States.  ISmo. 

Webster's,  Noah,  Dictionary.  2  vols.  4to. 

Webster's,  Noah.  Dictionary.  1vol.  Svo. 

Webster's,  Noah,  Dictionary,  abridged  for 
Schools. 

Young  Man's  Sunday  Book.  24mo. 
Young  Man's  Own  Book.  24mo. 
Young  Ladies'  Own  Book.  24mo. 


27 


VOYAGES    AND    TRAVELS. 


Alexander's,  Captain  J.  E  ,  Transatlantic 
Sketches,  Svo. 

Aliens,  Z  .  Practical  Tourist,  or  Sketches 
in  Great  Britain.  France,  and  Holland.  2 
vols. 

Bonvcastle's  Travels  in  South  America. 
Svo. 

Beechey's,  Captain,  Voyage  to  the  Pacific 
and  Behr'ing's  Straits.  8vo.  ~ 

Bigelow's,  A.,  Tour  in  Sicily  and  Malta. 
Svo. 

Cook's  Voyages.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Cook's  Voyages:  2  vols.  lcmo. 

Carter's  Letters  from  Europe.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

Clapperton's,  Captain.  Expedition  to  Af- 
rica, cvo. 

Cockrane's.  Captain,  Pedestrian  Journey. 
Svo. 

Cox's,  Ross.  Adventures  on  Columbia 
River.  Svo. 

Dupin's  Voyages.  3  vols.  Svo. 

Denham  and"  Clapperton's  Travels  in 
Africa.  4  vols.  Icmo. 

Dunn's  Travels  in  Gautimala.  Svo. 

Dwight's  Travels  in  the  United  States. 
4  vols.  cvo. 

Dwight's.  T.,  Travels  in  Germany.  Svo. 

Duanes,  Colonel,  Travels  in  Colombia. 
Svo. 

Ellis'.  YV.  Polynesian  Researches.  4  vols. 
12mo. 

Elliott's  Letters  from  the  North  of  Eu- 
rope. 18mo. 

Emerson's  Letters  from  the  -Egean.   cvo. 

Franklin's.  Sir  John,  Second  Expedition. 
Svo. 

Fanning's,  Edward,  Voyage  round  the 
World.  Svo. 

GutzlafT's  Voyages  along  the  Coast  of 
China.  12mo. 

Hobhouse's  Travels  in  Albania.  2  vols. 
Svo.  and  4to.  atlas. 

Humboldt's  New  Spain.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Hall's.  Basil.  Travels  in  the  United 
States.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Halls.  Basil,  Travels  in  South  America. 
2  vols.  12mo 

Hall's.  Basil,  Fragments  of  Voyages  and 
Travels.  1st  series.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Hall's,  Basil.  Fraements  of  Voyages  and 
Travels.  2d  series.  2  vols.  18mo. 

Heber's.  Bishop.  Travels  in  India.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

Hamilton's.  Captain.  Men  and  Manners 
in  America.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Henderson's,  E..  Iceland.  12mo. 

Roster's  Travels  in  Brazil.  2  vels.  Sro. 
Keppel's.  Captain,  Travels.  Svo. 


Long's.  Major.  Expedition  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Long's,  Major,  Second  Expedition  to  the 
Source  of  the  St.  Peter's  River.  2  vols.  cvo. 

Lewis  and  Clarke's  Travels    2  vols.  cvo. 

Lander's  Discovery  and  Termination  of 
the  Niger.  2  vols.  lcuio. 

Lafayette  in  America,  by  Levasseur.  2 
vc!s.  12mo. 

McKenney's,  Colonel,  Tour  to  the  Lake*, 
cvo. 

Morrell's.  Captain  B.,  Vovages  to  the 
South  Seas.  Svo. 

McLellan's.  J.,  Journal  of  a  Residence  ia 
Scotland.  12mo. 

Maddens,  Dr..  Travels  in  Turkey.  2  vols. 
12mo. 

Nuttal's  Travels.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Parrv's  First.  Second,  and  Third  Vovases. 
3vcls.8vo. 

Paulding's,  H.,  Journal  of  a  Cruise 
among  the"  Islands  of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and 
a  visit  to  the  Mulgrave  Islands.  ISoio. 

Post's  Visit  to  Greece,  cvo. 

Russell's  Tour  in  Germany,  cvo. 

Simond's  Travels  in  Great  Britain.  2  vols. 
Svo. 

Simond's  Travels  in  Switzerland.  2  vols, 
cvo. 

Saxe  Weimar's,  D  ke  of,  Travels  in  the 
United  States,  cvo. 

Sketches  of  Turkey,  by  Dr.  Dekay.  Svo. 

Slade's,  A..  Travels  in  Turkev.  2  v.  12mo. 

Stuart  s,  J.',  Three  Years  in  North  Ame- 
rica, cvo. 

Schoolcraft.  II.  R.,  Expedition  through  the 
Upper  Mississippi,  in  1832.  Svo. 

Subaltern's  Furlough.by  Lieutenant  Coke. 
2  vols. 

Stewart's.  C.  S.,  Visit  to  the  South  Seas 
in  the  Yincennes.  2  vols.  Svo. 

Stewart's,  C.  S  .  Great  Britain  and  Ire- 
land. 2  vols.  12mo. 

Sketches  of  Naval  Life,  with  notices  of 
Men.  Manners,  and  Scenery,  on  the  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Temple's  Travels  in  Peru.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Trollope's.  Mrs.,  Belgium  and  Western 
Germany,  cvo. 

Two  Years  and  a  Half  in  the  Navy,  by  E 
C.  Wines.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Travels  of  a  German  Prince  (Puckler 
Muskau)  in  England,  See.  Svo. 

Tyerrrian  and  Bennett's  Journal  in  the 
South  Sea  Islands,  China.  India,  <fcc.  3  vols. 

Vancouver's  Voyages.  6  vols.  8vo. 

View  of  the  Valley  of  ihe  Mississippi,  or 
the  Emigrant's  and  Traveller's  Guide.  12mo. 

Viene's.  G.  T  ,  Six  Months  in  America. 
18mo~. 


v.- 1  ,: «  :•    '•■--■  ■'-  ■--  '-■-■•■"■■■  z'-~-'- 

'wSS*,  Dr.,  MMta  ©f  Brail  in  1338    m 
- :  : TJ.T    --■-■--■ 

-■.-.■: 


...      Ml.i  "tt- 


z::  .-z.-.:  zv 


....      -  _----•.;;    ^     -^ 


i__Jt  trf  Xa|>c«te5wa. 
I_f»  ::'  ?■"  t  :•'---•■. : 
L_-'-    .:'   ?."i:i-..e.::. 


- 


!-:■.  -.:  ~:v : 

life  «r  w 

___  ■■     ~  - .- 


i. Tn  .-:-■->-.  "-■■-- 
v.:.?..'   V..--.    ::■-.■ 

I  ■-.   .'   A  ■■--     -"• 


■-:       - 


hft-'fV^r-f.':   -M 


Life   •■■:' 


1     -.-•  '    -;   - 


•_  >_  .  .v-  .    _•      ...  •      - 


.  i 


M. 

Mi 

Mi 
:- 
M< 

M* 

Hi 
Mi 


Y -.,;=    A  r- 


br  It-. 

. ...  -r-   -     :-. :.il 


JIU 


'  »*-«•  '  * 


29 


Memoirs  of  Eminent  Female  Sovereigns, 
by  Mrs.  Jameson.  9  vols.  l?mo. 

Memoirs  of  the  Beauties  of  the  Court  of 
Charles  II.  by  Mrs    Jameso;. 

Memoirs  of  Goeihe. 

Memoirs  of  Garrick.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Memoirs  of  Vidocq.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Memoirs  of  Captain  Rock,  by  T.  Moore. 
l~mo. 

Memoir?  of  Foache.  hso. 

Memoirs  of  R.  L.  Edgeworth.  8vo. 

Memoirs  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  by  Mrs. 
Thomson    ]2mo. 

Memoirs,  Military,  of  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington. 2  vols    Vtma. 

Memoirs  of  the  D  ichess  d'Abrar,-    -     - 

Memoirs  of  the  Historical  Socie'y     - 
•n  of  Cardinal  de  Retz.  3  vols. 

Memoirs  of  B  -    -vo. 

Memoirs  of\Y.  Pitt,  bv  Tomlinson.  2  vols. 
■vol 

Memoirs  of   Thomas    Eddy,    by   Samuel 
Knapp.  evo. 

Memoirs  of  Roger  Williams.   12mo. 

Memoirs  of  Darn-.-;  Boon.  I8a». 


Memoirs  of  Spurzhc-im.  by  Carmichael. 
12mo. 

Memoirs  of  Marshal  Ney,  by  his  Family 
Baa 

Memoirs  of  the  Rev.  John  Sammerfield. 
12mo. 

Memoirs  of  Silvio  Peilico.  12rno 

Memoirs  of  Baron  Cuvier.  by  Mrs.  Lee 
12mo. 

Memoirs,  of  Dr.  Burnev,  by  i»s  Daughter 
Bro. 

Memoirs  of  Lafayette,  by  Sarrans  2  vols. 
12mo. 

Memoirs  of  Felix  NefT.  12mo. 

Memoirs  of  Eminent  British  Statesmen 
12rno. 

Memoirs  of  Lavalette.  IBjao. 

Memoirs  of  Commodore  Barney.  »vo. 

Memoirs  of  Henry  Martyn.    12mo. 

Mrinfw  of  Thomas  Addi3  Emmeit.  l^mo 

Remains   of  the   Rev    E.  D    Griffin,    by 
i  Francis  Griffin.  2  vols   Bpo. 
j     Remains  of  the  late  Henry  Neele.  8vo. 


ARTS    AND    SCIENCES. 


Arnots  Elements  of  Physics.    2  vols.  Bro. 

Allans.  T.,  Science  of  Mechanics,  as  ap- 
plied to  the  present  improvements  in  the 
useful  Arts.  rvo. 

Bakewell's  Geology,  by  Siliiman,  2d  edi- 
tion.  - 

Bourchalet's  Treatise  on    Meefea 
Courtenay.  'vo. 

Bartons  Flora  of  North  America,  coloured 
plates.  3  row.  4to. 

Brunton's  Treatise  on  Mechanics,  by  Ren- 
wick.  12mo. 

s  Planus  of  Boston.  Bra 

Boardoa'x  Algebra,  by  Professor  Farar. 
f?vo. 

Bigelow's,  Dr.,   Elements  of  Technology. 

,.;n's.  A.,  Practice  of  Architect  ire. 
4to. 

Benjamin's,  A..  Practical  Builder.  4to. 

Benjamin's.  A.,  Carpenters  Guide.  4to. 

Brewsi ..- '.=.  Sir  D.  Treatise  on  Optics, 
with-an  Appendix,  by  A.  D   Bache.  ]2mo. 

Bakewells,  F.  C,  Philosophical  C 
tions.   12rno. 

Borden's  Elements  of  Algebra.  8vo. 

Conversations  on  Chemistry.  12mo. 
son's.    4to. 

Cuvier-.  Baron  Discourses  on  the  Revo- 
lution of  the  Globe.   12mo. 

Cambridge's  Mathematics,  by  Professor 
Farar.    2  vols.  Bro. 

Courtenav's.  E.  H  Treatise  on  Mechanics. 
- 

Cuvier's  Animal  Kingdom,  translated  by 
R.  M.  McM  ,1-trie.  in  4  vols.  ^vo.  plates. 

Conversations  on  Botany,  with  notes,  tec. 
by  Blake.  12mo. 

De  la  Beeches  Geological  Manual.  5vo 
c2 


Davies'.  C  ,  Descriptive  Geometry,   gvo. 

Danes',  C,  Shades  and  Shadows,  cvo. 

Davies'.  C.  Surveyii  g.  Pro. 

Description  .jf  the  Rail  Road,  from  Liver- 
pool to  Manchester,  translated  by  J.  C. 
Stocker.  Irrao. 

Enfield's  Philosophy.  4to. 

Eaton's,  A.,  Manual  of  Botany.  12mo. 

Eaton's  Geology. 

Eaton's  Geological  Text  Book.  Bro. 

M ..i wright  and  Miller's 
Guide.   - 

Electricity  and  Magnetism,  by  Professor 
Farar    - 

Euler's  Algebra,  by  Professor  Fz- 

Es-ays  on  American  Silk,  with  directions 
for  raising  Silk  Worms.   12mo. 

Farar's.  Professor.  Astronomy    - 

f  Natural  Philosophy, 
by  Professor  Farar.  ^vo. 

Gregory's  Dictionary  of  the  Arts  and  So- 
3  vols  4to. 

Gibson's  Surveying,  by  Ryan.  ~vo. 

Grund's.  F  .  Tr'eatiie  on  Geometrv.  12mo 

GREGORYS  O.  MATHEMATICS  FOR 
PRACTICAL  MEN  8m  2d  EDITION 
WITH  210  CUTS  AND  PLATES. 

Comstcck's  Outlines  of  Geology.   12mo 

Corn  stock  s  Mineralogy.   12mo. 

Guv  5  Elements  of  Astronomy,  and  an 
Abridgment  of  Keith  on  the  Globe.  12mo. 

Green's,  Jacob.  Text  Book  of  Chemical 
- 

Hitchcock's,  Professor.   Reports 
gy.  Mineralogy.  Botany.  tec  .  of  Massachu- 
setts. 1  vol.  Bro.  and  atla3. 

Herschels.  Sir  J.  F.  W.,  Treatise  on  As 
tronomv.  J2mo. 


30 


Herschel's,  Sir  J.  F.  W.,  Preliminary  Dis- 
course on  the  Study  of  Natural  Philosophy. 
12mo. 

Hazzler's  Logarithmic  and  Trigonometric 
Tables.  12mo. 

Kater  and  Lardner's  Treatise  on  Mecha- 
nics. 12mo. 

Lardner.  Dr.  on  the  Steam  Engine.  12mo. 

Lucas'  Complete  Drawing  Book,  long  fo- 
lio. 

Lacroix's  Algebra,  by  Professor  Farar. 
8vo. 

Lacroix's  and  Euler's  Algebra,  by  Profes- 
sor Farar.  evo. 

Laplace's  Mechanique  Celeste,  by  Dr. 
Bowditch.  4to. 

Legendre's  Geometry,  by  Farar.  8vo. 

Lamarck's  Genera  of  Shells,  translated 
by  Dubois.  12mo. 

Lindley's,  John,  Introduction  to  the  Sys- 
tem of  Botany.  8yo. 

Lincoln's.  Mrs.,  Familiar  Lectures  on  Bo- 
tanv.  12mo. 

Lincoln's,  Mrs.,  Dictionary  of  Chemistry, 
12mo. 

Lessons  on  Shells.  lSmo. 

Mechanics,  by  Farar.  8vo. 

Morse's,  E.  Manual  of  Mineralogy  and 
Geologv.  12mo. 

Manual  of  the  Practical  Naturalist,  or  Di- 
rections for  collecting,  preparing,  and  pre- 
serving Subjects  in  Natural  History.  12mo. 

Nuttal's  Botany,  12mo. 
Nicholson's  Operative  Mechanic.    2  vols. 
8vo. 

Optics,  Treatise  on,  by  Professor  Farar. 
8vo. 

Prout,  Wm.,  on  Chemistry,  Meteorology, 
&c.  12mo. 

Reports  on  Locomotive  and  Fixed  En- 
gines, by  Stephenson  and  Locke.  8vo. 


Reid  on  Clock  and  Watch  Making.  8vo. 

Renwick,  Professor,  Treatise  oh"  Mecha- 
nics. 8vo. 

Renwick,  Professor,  Treatise  on  Steam. 
8vo. 

Robinson's  Catalogue  of  Minerals.  8vo. 

Strickland's,  W.,  Report  on  Rail  Roads 
and  Canals,  <fcc.  long  folio. 

Sganzins  Engineering  translated.  8vo 

Spurzheim's,  G.,  Outline  of  Phrenology. 
12mo. 

Spurzheim's,  G.,  Phrenological  Catechism 
12mo. 

Spurzheim's. G.,  Phrenology.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Spurzheim's,  G.,  Natural  Laws  of  Man. 

Spurzheim's.  G.,  Physiognomy,  evo.  plates. 

Shephard's,  C.  M.,  Treatise  on  Mineralo- 
gy. 12mo. 

Shaw's,  Edward,  Civil  Architecture,  or  a 
complete  Theoretical  and  Practical  System 
of  Building.  4to. 

Trigonometry,  Treatise  on,  by  Farar. 
8vo. 

Topography,  Treatise  on,  hy  Farar.  8vo. 

Treatise  on  the  Manufacture  of  Porcelain 
and  Glass.  12mo. 

Tingrey's  Painter  and  Colourman's  Guide. 
12mo. 

Wood's.  N.,  Treatise  on  Rail  R.oads.  8vo. 

Williams'  Astronomy.  15mo. 

Whewells  Astronomy  and  General  Phy- 
sics, with  a  reference  to  Natural  Theology. 
12mo. 

Walsh's,  I.  R.,  Familiar  Lessons  in  Mine- 
ralogy and  Geology.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Young's,  J.  R.,  Elements  of  Mechanics. 
8vo. 
Youne's,  J.  R.,  Trisonometrv.  Evo. 
Young's.  J.  R.,  Differential  Calculus.  8vo. 
Young's  J.  R.,  Algebra.  6vo. 
Young's,  J.  R.,  Integral  Calculus. 
Young's.  J.  R..  Analytical  Geometry. 
Young's,  J.  R.,  Elements  of  Geometry. 


WORKS    OF    FICTION. 


Atlantic  Club  Book.  2  vols. 

Ayesha  bv  Morier.  2  vols. 

Atlantic  Tales,  by  Miss  Leslie.  13mo. 

Arungzebe.  a  Tale  of  Alrachid.  2  vols. 

Aristocrat,  Tbe    2  vols. 

Asmodeus  at  Large,  by  Bulwer.  12mo. 

Alice  Paulet,  a  Sequel  of  Sydenham. 
2  vols 

Abbess.  The.  by  Mrs.  Trollope.  2  vols. 

Adventures  of  a  Younger  Son,  by  Trelaw- 
ney.  2  vols. 

Alhambra,  bv  W.  Irving    12mo. 

Arlington,  by  the  Author  of  Granby. 
2  vols. 

American  Girls'  Book,  by  Miis  Leslie. 
13mo 

Anastasius.  2  vols. 

Affecting  Scenes  from  the  Diary  of  a  Phy- 
sician. 2  vols. 


Adventures  of  a  King's  Page.  2  vols. 

Bernardo  del  Carpio.  12mo. 

Book  of  Beauty,  by  L.  E.  L.  12mo. 

Buccaneer,  The,  by  Mrs.  S.  C.  Uall.  2  vols. 

Bravo,  The.  2  vols. 

Bertha's  Visit.  2  vols. 

Book  of  the  Boudoir,  by  Lady  Morgan. 
2  vols. 

Beatrice,  by  Mrs.  Hofland.  2  vols. 

Bulwer  s  Novels,  complete  in  ]1  vols. 
12ino. 

Cooper's  Novels  and  Tales,  complete  in 
24  vols.   ]2mo 

Canterburv  Tales,  by  Misses  Lee.  2  vols. 

Cant  rtmrj  Tales,  by  Misses  Lee,  2d  se- 
ries. 2  vols. 

Crayon  Sketches,  by  Fay.  2  vols. 


\t* r-  ?  i  tir  f  en 


---•-•• 


31 


Contrast,  by  Lord  Mulgrave.  2  vols. 

Contarini  Fleming,  by  Disraeli. 

Conversations  with  an  Ambitious  Stu- 
dent. 12mo. 

Caleb  Williams,  by  Godwin.  2  vols. 

Club  Book.  2  vols. 

Chronicle  of  the  Times  of  Charles  IX. 
12mo. 

Cloudesley,  by  Godwin.  2  vols. 

Clarence,  by  Miss  Sedgwick.  2  vols. 

Country  Curate.  2  vols. 

Coquette,  The,  by  the  author  of  "  Miserri- 
mus." 

Cecil  Hyde.  2  vols. 

Castilian,  The.  2  vols. 

Collegians,  The.  2  vols. 

Dominie's  Lesacv.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Down-Easters.  by  John  Neal.  2  vols. 

Dramatic  Scenes  from  Real  Life,  by  Lady 
Morgan.  12mo. 

Deloraine,  by  Godwin.  2  vols. 

Dreams  and  Reveries  of  a  Quiet  Man. 
2  vols. 

Doomed,  The. 

De  Vere.  bv  Ward.  2  vols. 

Denounced,  The,  by  Banim.  2  vols. 

Destiny,  by  the  author  of  "Marriage." 

Darnley,  by  James.  2  vols. 

Disowned,  The,  by  the  author  of  "Pel- 
ham."  2  vols. 

Devereux,  by  the  author  of  "Pelham." 
2  vols. 

Edgeworth's,  Maria,  Novels  and  Tales. 
10  vols.  12mo. 

Evenings  at  Home.  2  vols.  18mo. 

Early  Lessons,  by  Miss  Edgeworth.  6 
vols.  18mo. 

Eben  Erskine,  by  Gait.  2  vols. 

Evelina,  by  Miss  Burney.  2  vols. 

Ecarte,  or  the  Salons  of  Paris.  2  vols. 

Enslish  at  Home.  2  vols. 

Exclusives,  The.  2  vols. 

Frank  Orby.  2  vols. 

Five  Nights  of  St.  Albans.  2  vols. 

Frankenstein,  by  Mrs.  Shelley.  2  vols. 

Forsaken,  The.  2  vols. 

Foscarini,  or  the  Patrician  of  Venice. 
2  vols. 

Falkland,  by  the  author  of  "Pelham." 
12mo. 

Fortunes  of  Perkin  Warbeck.  2  vols. 

Fitz  George.  2  vols. 

Gale  Middleton,  by  Horace  Smith.  2  vols. 
Godolphin.  2  vols. 
Game,  The,  of  Life.  12mo. 

Helen,  bv  Miss  Edgworth.  1  vol. 
Heiress,  The.  2  vols. 
Headsman,  by  Cooper.  2  vols. 
Harpes  Head,  by  James  Hall. 
Heidenmaeur,  by  Cooper.  2  vols. 
Heroine,  The,  orCherubina.  2  vols.  l8mo. 
Henrv  Masterton,  by  James.  2  vols. 
Hung'arian  Tales.  2  vols. 


Jacob  Faithful,  by  the  author  of 
Simple."  3  vols. 
Invisible  Gentleman.  2  vols. 


Peter 


Ivan  Vejieghen,  or  Life  in  Russia.  2 
vols. 

Jacqueline  of  Holland.  2  vols. 

Inheritance,  The,  by  the  author  of  tl  Mar- 
riage" 2  vols. 

Incognito,  The.  2  vols. 

Kentuckian  in  New  York,  by  a  Virginian. 
2  vols.  12mo. 

King's  Own,  bv  Captain  Marryatt.  2  vols. 
Knowles',  J.  S.:  Select  Works.  2  vols. 
King's,  The,  Secret,  by  Power.  2  vols. 

Lights  and  Shadows  of  English  Life.  2 
vols.  ISmo. 

Love  and  Pride,  by  Hook.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Life  andAdventures  of  John  Marston  Hall. 
2  vols. 

London  Nights,  by  Leitch  Ritchie.  2  vols. 

Last  Man,  by  Mrs.  Shelley.  2  vols. 

Lights  and  Shadows  of  German  Life. 
2  vols. 

Legends  of  the  Library  at  Lillies.  2  vols. 

Life  of  a  Sailor.  2  vols. 

Lives  and  Exploits  of  Banditti  and  Rob- 
bers. 2  vols. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Dr.  Dodimus 
Duckworth.  2  vols. 

Legends  of  the  Rhine,  by  T.  C.  Grattan. 
2  vols. 

Legends  of  the  West,  by  James  Hall. 
12mo. 

Lost  Heir,  by  Tyrone  Power.  2  vols. 

Last  of  the  Plantagenet3.  2  vols. 

Life  in  India.  2  vols. 

Miriam  Coffin,  or  the  Whale  Fisherman. 
2  vols. 

Man-of-Wars-Man,  by  author  of  "Tom 
Cringle." 

Modern  Cvmon,  The,  by  Paul  de  Koch. 
2  vols. 

Mary  of  Burgundy,  by  James.  2  vols. 

Miserrimus.  18mo. 

Martin  Faber,  by  the  author  of  "Guy 
Rivers." 

Mansfield  Park,  by  Miss  Austen.  2  vols. 

Match  Making,  and  other  Tales.  2  vols. 

Marriage.  2  vols. 

Maxwell,  by  T.  Hook.  2  vols. 

Miseries  of  Marriage.  2  vols. 

Mothers  and  Daughters.  2  vols. 

Naval  Stories,  by  Leggett.  18mo. 

Nun,  The.  by  Mrs.  Sherwood.  12mo. 

Newton  Foster,  by  Captain  Marryatt. 
2  vols. 

Naval  Officer,  by  the  author  of  "  Peter 
Simple."  2  vols. 

New  Gil  Bias,  by  H.  D.  Inglis.  2  vols. 

Northanger  Abbey,  by  Miss  Austen.  2 
vols. 

New  Forest.  2  Vols. 

Novels  and  Tales,  by  the  author  of  "  Wa- 
verley,"  complete  in  27  vols.  12mo. 

Novels  and  Prose  Works,  by  the  author 
of  "Waverley."  7  vols.  8vo. 

Outre  Mer,  by  Longfellow.  8vo. 

Our  Island.  2  vols. 

Outlaw's  Bride,  and  other  Tales.  2  vols. 

Our  Village,  by  Miss  Milford.  4  vols 


32 


Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine,  by  Bulwer.  2  vols. 

Perils  of  Pearl  Street.  J2mo. 

Pickens'  Traditionary  Stories.   12mo. 

Pin  Money.  2  vols. 

Peter  Simple,  or  Adventures  of  a  Midship- 
man. 3  vols.  12mo. 

Paris,  or  the  Book  of  the  101.  2  vols. 

Parson's  Daughter,  by  Theo.  Hook.  2  vols. 

Pride  and  Prejudice,  by  Miss  Austin. 
2  vols. 

Persuasion,  by  Miss  Austin.  2  vols. 

Philip  Augustus,  by  James.  2  vols. 

Polish  Chiefs.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Persian  Adventurer,  by  Frazer.  2  vols. 

Paul  Clifford.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Peace  Campaigns  of  a  Cornet.  2  vols. 

Private  Life.  2  vols. 

Pelham.  2  vols. 

Repealers,  The,  by  the  Countess  of  Bles- 
sington.  2  vote. 

Ro.sine  Laval,  by  Mr.  Smith.  12mo. 

Recollections  of  a  Chaperon.  2  vols. 

Refugee  in  America,  by  Mrs.  Trollope. 
2  vols. 

Romance  and  Reality,  by  L.  E.  L.  2  vols. 

Roxobel,  by  Mrs.  Sherwood.  3  vols. 

Romance  of  History,  England,  by  Neele 
2  vols. 

Romance  of  History,  France,  by  Ritchie. 
2  vole. 

Romance  of  History,  Italy,  by  Macfarland. 
2  vols. 

Romance  of  History,  Spain,  by  Trueba. 
2  vols. 

Rybrent  de  Cruce.  2  vols. 

Rivals,  The.  2  vols. 

Richelieu,  by  James.  2  vols. 

Romances  of  Real  Life.  2  vols. 

Redwood.  2  vols, 

Sigourney's,  Mrs..  Sketches.    18mo. 

Speculation,  by  Miss  Pardoe.  2  vols. 

Staff  Officers,  or  Soldier  of  Fortune.  2  vols. 
8vo. 

Sketch  Book  of  Fashion.  2  vols.  12mo. 

String  of  Pearls,  by  G.  R.  P.  James.  1  vol. 

Service  Afloat.   12ino. 

Stanley  Buxton,  by  Gait.  2  vols. 

Stolen  Child,  by  Gait.  18mo. 

Slave  King  Victor  Hugo.  18mo. 

Salathiel,  by  Geo.  Croly.  2  vols. 

Sydenham,  or  Memoirs  of  a  Man  of  the 
World.  2  vote. 

Summer,  The,  Fete,  with  Songs,  by  T. 
Moore.  18mo. 


Sayings  and  Doings  in  Tremont  House. 
2  vols. 

Swallow  Barn,  or  a  Sojourn  in  the  Old 
Dominion. 

Saturday  Evening.  12mo. 

Seward's,  Sir  E.,  Narrative,  edited  by 
Miss  Porter.  3  vols. 

Sixty  Years  in  the  Life  of  Jeremy  Levis. 

2  vols.  LJmo. 

Stories  of  Waterloo.  2  vols. 
Stories  of  a  Bride.  2  vols. 
Separation,  The.  2  vols. 
Sailors  and  Saints.  2  vols. 
Stratton  Hill.  2  vols. 
School  of  Fashion.  2  vols. 

Tales  and  Sketches,  such  as  they  are,  by 
W.  L.  Stone.  2  vols. 

Two  Old  Men's  Tales.  2  vols. 

Traits  and  Traditions  of  Portugal,  by 
Miss  Pardoe.  2  vols. 

Tom  Cringle's  Log,  complete  in  3  vols. 
12mo. 

Trevelyan.  2  vols.  12mo. 

Traits  and  Stories  of  the  Irish  Peasantry, 

3  series.  6  vols. 

Tales  of  Military  Life.  12mo 

Tales  of  Glauber  Spa.   2  vols. 

Tales  of  the  Early  Ages,  by  Horace  Smith. 
2  vols. 

Thuilleries,  The.  2  vols. 

Tremaine.  3  vols. 

Three,  The,  Histories,  by  Miss  Jewsbury. 
12mo. 

Talba,  The,  or  Moor  of  Portugal. 

Tales  of  Military  Life.  2  vols. 

Tales  of  Passion,  by  Gilbert  Earle.  2  vols. 

Village  Belles.  2  vols. 

Wondrous,  The,  Tale  of  Alroy,  by  D'la 
raeli.  2  vols. 

Wacousta,  or  the  Prophecy.   2  vote. 

Whigs  of  Scotland.  2  vote. 

Wifej  The,  by  Sheridan  Knowles. 

Waverley  Anecdotes,  by  Sir  Walter 
Scott.  2  vote.  12mo. 

Wild  Sports  of  the  West.  2  vote. 

Westward  Ho!  by  Paulding.  2  vote. 

Walter  Colyton. 

Waldegrave.  2  vols. 

Young,  The,  Duke,  by  Disraeli.  2  vote. 
Zohrab,  by  Morier.  2  vote. 


LAW 


Adams    on    Ejectments,*  by  Tillinghast. 
8vo. 

Abbot  on  Shipping,  by  Judge  Story.  8vo. 

Aiil"'II  on  Tide  Waters.  8vo. 

Angell  on  Adverse  Enjoyment.  8vo. 

AngelJ  on  [.imitations.  8vo. 

Angell  and  Ames  on  Corporations.  8vo. 

Anthon'*  Blackstone. 

American  Constitutions. 

A/,  nit's  Maritime  Law. 

Archbold's  Civil  Pleading. 


Archbold's  Criminal  Pleading. 
Archbold's  Forms  and  Entries. 
Archbold's  Practice. 
Atkyn's  Report,  by  Saunders.  3  vols. 
American  Digest,   by  Anthon,  Day,   and 
Wharton.  5  vote. 

Burlemaqui  Law.  2  vote.  8vo. 
Bayleon  Bills,  by  Philips  and  Sewall.  8vo. 
Bigelow's  Digest  of  Massachusetts  Re- 
ports. 8vo. 


<~r  a m  6  i 


Hi7iJ 


33 


Bayard,  J.,  on  the  Constitution.  l2mo. 

Baches  Manual. 

Kinney's  Eeports.  6  vote.  Svo. 

Bacon's  Abridgment. 

Ballentine  on  Limitations. 

Barnwell  an.l  AJderson's  Reports.  4  vols. 

Bailey  on  Bills  of  Exchange. 

B«aines*  Pleas  in  Equity. 

Beck's  Medical  Jurisprudence. 

Beccaria  on  Crimes. 

Bingham  on  Infancy. 

Bigelow's  Digest. 

Blake's  Chancery. 

Bosanquet  and  Puller's  Reports. 

Burrows'  Reports. 

Burr's  Trial. 

Commercial  Directory  and  Digest  of  Laws 
of  the  United  States,  relating  to  Commerce, 
by  M.  M 

Coweu's  Reports.  Svo. 

Crabbe's  History  of  English  Law.  Svo 

Chitty  on  Pleading.  3  vols. 

Chiity  on  Criminal  Law. 

Chitty  on  Parties  to  Actions.  Svo. 

Chitty's  Practice. 

Chitty  on  Bills. 

Chitty  on  Blackstone.  2  vols.  8vo. 

Chitty  on  the  Laws  of  Nations. 

Chitty  on  Contracts. 

Chitty's  Equity  Digest. 

Cherokee  Case. 

Chipman  on  Contracts. 

Clancy  on  Married  Women. 

Coke  upon  Lyttleton,  by  Thomas, 
vn  on  Contracts. 

Comyn's  Kg   - 

Commercial  Compendium. 

Cooper's  Chancery  Cases. 

Cooper's  Justinian. 

Cooper's  Equity  Pleadings. 

Cowen's  Reports.  9  vols. 

Coxes  Chancery  Cases. 

Cruize  on  Real  Property. 

Dane's.  X.,  Abridgment  of  American 
Law.  9  vols.  Svo. 

Duer's.  W.  A..  Outlines  of  Constitutional 
Jurisprudence.  12mo. 

Davis'.  D.,  Precedents.  Svo. 

Dallas'  Reports. 

Diplomatic  Correspondence  of  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution,  edited  by  Jared  Sparks. 
12  vols. 

Dunlap's  New  York  Practice. 

Durnford  and  East's  Reports. 

East's  Reports,  by  Day. 

East's  Crown  Laws. 

Eden  on  Injunctions. 

Edward's  Admiralty  Reports. 

English  Ecclesiastical  Reports.  4  vols. 

English  Common  Law  Reports.  23  vols. 

English  Chancery  Reports.  5  vols. 

Epfnasse  on  Evidence. 

Epinasse  on  Penal  Actions. 

Equity  Draftsman. 

Evans'  Pleading. 

Fonblanque's  Equitv.  cvo 
Form  Book.  The:  containing  nearly  500 
of  the  most  approved  precedents.  12mo. 


Fearne  on  Remainders. 
Federalist. 

Fell  on  Guarantees. 

Field's  Analysis  of  Blackstone. 

Gould  on  Pleading.  Svo. 
Gow  on  Partnership.    Bvo, 
Gordon's  Dige-st  of  the  Laws  of  the  Uuitec 
Slates. 
Graydon's  Forms 
Graydon's  Justice. 

Hughes'.  D..  on  Insurance.  Svo. 

Hughes'.  S.,  Digested  Index.  Svo. 

Hovenden  on  Frauds.  Svo. 

Hoffman's  Legal  Outlines. 

Hall  on  Loans. 

Hall's  Admiralty  Practice. 

Hammond's  Nisi  Prius. 

Harris'  Entries. 

Henning's  Justice. 

Highmore  on  Lunacy. 

Hoffman's  Legal  Studv. 

Hall  on  Libels. 

Hovenden's  Supplement  to  Vesey,  Jr 

Johnson's  Reports.  20  vols.  Svo. 

Johnson's  Chancery  Reports.    7  vols.  Svo. 

Johnson's  Index. 

Jeremy's  Equity.  B»o. 

Ingersoll's  Abridgment. 

Ingraham  on  Insolvency. 

Jacobson's  Sea  Laws. 

Jacobs  and  Walker's  Chancery  Reports. 

Jacobs'  Law  Dictionary. 

Jones  on  Bailment. 

Kent's  Commentary  on  American  Law 
4  vols.  Svo. 
Kyd  on  Awards. 

Long  on  Sales.  Svo. 
Laws  on  Pleading. 
Livermore  on  Agency. 

Mathews.  J.,  on  Evidence,  by  Rand,  gvo 

Massachusetts  Reports.  IT  vols.  Svo. 

Mason's  Reports.  Svo. 

Mitford's  Pleadings. 

Maule  and  Selwyn's  Reports. 

Maddock's  Chancery  Practice.  2  vols. 

Maddock's  Chancery  Reports. 

Maule  and  Selwyn's  Reports. 

McXallVs  Evidence. 

Men  vale's  Chancery  Reports. 

Metcalfs  Digest. 

Montagu  on  Lien. 

Montagu  on  Sett  Off. 

Montefiores'  Precedents. 

Xewland's  Chancery  Practice. 
NewlancTa  Contracts. 
Xoy's  Maxims. 

Oliver's  American  Precedents.  Sro. 

Pickering's.  O  .  Reports.  11  vols.  Svo. 

Purdon's.  John.  Digest  of  the  Laws  of 
Pennsylvania.  Svo. 

Philips  on  Insurance. 

Peters'.  R..  Condensed  Reports  of  Supreme 
Court.  5  vols.  Svo. 


34 


Peters',  R.,  Supreme  Court  Reports.  8vo. 

Peters',  R.,  Ccudensed  Chancery  Reports. 

Petersdorff's  Abridgment.  15  vols.  8vo. 

Paine  and  Duer's  New  York  Practice. 

Paley  on  Agency. 

Peake's  Evidence,  by  Norris. 

Peere  William's  Chancery  Reports. 

Pothier  on  Obligations. 

Pothier  on  Contracts. 

Powel  on  Contracts. 

Powel  on  Devises. 

Powel  on  Mortgages. 

Powel  on  Powers." 

Preston  on  Estates. 

Preston  on  Legacies. 

Report  of  the  Trial  of  Judge  Peck.    Svo. 

Roscoe  on  Evidence,  Svo. 

Roper  on  Legacies.  Svo. 

Rawle  on  the  Constitution. 

Randall's  Peake's  Evidence. 

Read's  Precedents. 

Revised  Code  of  New  York. 

Roberts  on  Wills. 

Roberts  on  Frauds. 

Roberts  on  Fraudulent  Conveyancing. 

Roper  on  Wills. 

Roper  on  the  Laws  of  Husband  and  Wife. 

Russell  on  Crimes. 

Russell's  Chancery  Reports. 

Sugden  on  Venders.  Svo. 

Sugden  on  Powers.  Svo. 

Starkie  on  Slander,  new  edition.  2  vols. 

Sergeant  and  Lowber's  Common  Law 
Reports.  23  vols.  Svo. 

Story's,  Judge,  Commentaries.  3  vols.  Svo. 

Story's,  Judge,  Commentaries,  abridged. 
1  vol.  Svo. 


Story's,  Judge,  Laws  of  the  United  Steles. 
3  vols. 

Stevens   and   Bernecke    on   Average,  by 
Phillips.  Svo. 

Stearns  on  Real  Actions.  Svo. 

Story  on  Bailments.  Svo. 

Saunders  on  Pleading  and   Evidence 
vols.  Svo. 

Salkeld's  Reports. 

Saunders  on  Uses  and  Trusts. 

Saunders'  Reports,  by  Williams. 

Sellon's  Practice. 

Selwyn's  Nisi  Prius. 

Sergeant  on  Attachment. 

Sergeant's  Constitutional  Law. 

Starkie  on  Evidence,  new  edition.  2  vols 

Stephens  on  Pleading. 

Swanston's  Chancery  Reports. 

Swift's  Digest. 

Thomas'  Coke  Littleton^  3  vols.  Svo. 
Toller's  Law  of'Executors.  Svo. 
Tidd's  Practice.  2  vols.  Svo. 
Taunton's  Reports. 
Tidd's  Practice. 
Tomlin's  Index. 
Troubat  and  Haly's  Digest. 
Tucker's  Blackstone. 

Vesey,  Jr.  and  Vesey  and  Beame's  Sup- 
plement. 24  vols.  Svo. 
Vesey's,  Sen.,  Chancery  Reports.  2  vols. 
Vernon's  Chancery  Reports. 
Viner's  Abridgment. 
Vattel's  Law  of  Nations. 

Wendall's,  J.  L.,  Reports. 
Williams  on  Executors.  2  vols.  8vo. 
Wentworth  on  Executors.  Svo. 


\w  p  i^Hh/  e  ii jm 


-J    I 


-\    .   _.<_•     -    -:      -    •    J 


H  nn 


4- 


- 


, JgfflflS] 


3    pas s« ^9 s    ir 
life   of  Sir   drizzle 


me   oi    biif 
Puns 


you 

.'.5653 
— &o&- 


Case 


M134715 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


